


GUIDE ME: The Search for a Soulmate

by rhiannonhero



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Cliche, Known!Sentinels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonhero/pseuds/rhiannonhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Sentinels are known, it's an entertainment age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sitting on the ground at the head of a circle carved into the surrounding jungle, a fire roaring in front of him, Jim was over-heated despite being shirtless. They were bringing in the applicants now. One by one they filed in front of him, some wearing somber, alert expressions, others smiling at him hopefully, and one dancing along to the drums, shaking his body to the sound, smiling up at the sky, not even looking toward Jim at all. Jim wiped a hand over his face, ostensibly to clear off the sweat that poured from him, but mainly to clear his sight of it all for a moment. The night was surreal, and he felt himself slipping a little, losing control of his reactions and senses; the fire flickered a little too rhythmically and the drums pulsed around him, he could easily slip into a zone if he wasn't careful.

That was why he was here after all. He needed one of these idiots to keep that from happening on the job. He glanced around the fire at the now seated applicants, each one of them staring at him with wide, eager eyes, a few attempted a smile, and the one who had been dancing grinned and bobbed his head to the beat. Jim sighed. It wasn't like he hadn't tried to find a Guide on his own. He'd gone to those damn mixers that Simon had insisted on arranging for him through the Guide Program at the local university. Was it Jim's fault that the people who attended those weren't for him? As he told Simon after the last mixer, "Two had a cat, another a dog..." Jim had a strict bias against a Guide with animals. His allergies would necessitate the disposal of the animal and that seemed unnecessarily cruel. "Another smelled of Milk Bones, even though he did _not_ have a dog..." Jim looked at Simon pointedly. "Do I even need to say it?" Jim asked.

"Oh, yes, Jim, clearly a deviant," Simon scoffed.

Jim grunted and turned his back. "I just didn't feel it," he finally admitted. "I gotta feel it, Simon."

"Of course you gotta feel it, Jim," Simon had said, slapping him on the back. "I wouldn't marry a woman unless I felt it, and Sentinels shouldn't take a Guide unless they feel it. I hear ya. The problem is, Jim, the council isn't 'feeling it' either. They've taken it directly to the governor and word has come down that you need a Guide. You're too big of a risk out there any more without one."

"I know," Jim said, wanting to dispute it, but the last time had been too close. He'd zoned and ten men had nearly died. Men with wives and children, men with moms and dads, or girlfriends or even boyfriends, dammit. Men with _families_. He shook his head and sat down at Simon's table.

"Look, Jim," Simon said, sitting across from him. "I know you aren't going to like it, but, hear me out. Okay? The governor has insisted, as a show of good faith, as a serious gesture to prove that you are really looking for a Guide and not just pretending to look--"

"Pretending to look? For God's sake, Simon, why would I do that?" Jim demanded.

"You wouldn't. But the governor doesn't know that. And there's more to it, I think. Ratings. Money."

"Ratings?"

"Yes, ratings, Jim. They've got three other sentinels looking for Guides. One Alex Barnes , a female, from Seattle, a Fong Wu from Paris, yes, I know rather unusual, but true all the same, and the last is...ahh," Simon flipped through the packet of paper he held in his hands. "Cameron Knox from Atlanta. All three have had an exceedingly difficult time 'feeling it', as you've put it, and all are in a position now where their future careers depend entirely on finding someone they can 'feel it' with." Simon cleared his throat and looked at Jim pointedly. "Sound familiar?"

Jim narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

Simon went on. "What was it my ex-wife said to me once? Oh, yes. She said, 'Simon, we live in an entertainment age.' At the time she was talking about the blasted reporters trying to turn my case into a three-ring circus, but now I say it to you: Jim, we live in an entertainment age. Welcome to it."

He slapped down a packet in front of Jim. "What's this?" Jim asked.

"It's your application. It's already been submitted by the governor and you'll be picked up on Thursday morning and flown to some sweet little island off the western coast of Mexico to participate in the first ever reality program featuring Sentinels and Guides. Entertainment, Jim. Take it or—"

"I'll leave it, thanks," Jim said, shoving the packet back at Simon.

"I was going to say, 'Or kiss your career goodbye'." Simon finished as he stood up, cocked his index finger at Jim, and then left the room, leaving Jim's glare focused on the glass of the still shuddering door.

Jim looked down at the glossy papers on the table. They were all imprinted with the words: GUIDE ME: THE SEARCH FOR A SOULMATE. "Thank you for participating in the new reality program sponsored by CBS and the U.S. Government," Jim read aloud, before flinging the papers at the door. "Over my dead body."

And yet here he sat, red paint smeared on his chest in a way that was nothing like his old friend Incacha's decoration, though how he could expect the bastards in charge of these shenanigans to have any idea about that, he didn't know. The fire roared in front of him and the faces of thirty-five potential candidates gazed at him. He groaned under his breath at the crass naked hope that radiated from each of them.

Warren, the Man With the Microphone, as he'd introduced himself to Jim earlier, sat down beside him wearing a red t-shirt and khaki shorts. "How are you feeling, Jim?" Warren asked, shoving the microphone in Jim's face. "Pretty excited?"

Jim said, "I could think of other words."

"Yeah? I bet you could. It must be amazing to sit here looking at each of these attractive, smart, interesting young people and know that every one of them is here for _you_, Jim. How does that feel?"

Damn creepy, Jim thought. "There are three other sentinels. I'm not the only one," he said.

"Right! Tonight, at three different sites on the island, far enough away to avoid territory issues, we have three other sentinels sitting at identical fires with thirty five faces staring at them as well. How do you imagine they are feeling?"

"Hot," Jim said, wiping his face. "And tired."

Warren laughed. "Oh, Jim, ever the straight man in the comedy duo."

Jim gave a tight-lipped smile at that and turned his focus back to the faces around the fire. He didn't see anyone of initial interest to him.

Warren talked on. "That's right, folks. Four sentinels with thirty-five applicants each. That's 140 applicants for only four Guide positions."

Warren threw his arm around Jim's shoulder and it was all Jim could do not to throw it off.

"For those in our viewing audience at home who might not be aware, a Sentinel is a man or a woman with extraordinary sensory abilities, far beyond the normal human's ability to even imagine. Those abilities allow them, no, compel them by forces written into their DNA to serve and protect their fellow man. They are virtually _super-human_."

Warren paused dramatically and Jim moved out from under Warren's arm, glancing around, looking for a way out. Warren continued his explanation, "But nature has a way of balancing things out. For, you see, every Sentinel needs a Guide, or he becomes a slave to his senses. He or she becomes unable to control them, and, as a result, can become a danger to himself and the men who follow him into battle."

Jim looked at the large screen opposite showing the footage live as it aired. Warren's voice over was being intercut with footage of Jim by the fire, the applicants, and a 're-enactment' of a police standoff going awry because the actor posing as the Sentinel suddenly covered his eyes and began crying out , falling to the floor and writhing there. Jim sneered, but his stomach twisted. As much as he wanted to dismiss what he'd seen as nothing more than bad acting, he remembered all too well the blood welling from Johnson's abdomen after Jim's vision had suddenly telescoped and then gone out entirely during the last bust he'd led.

Warren talked on, "But finding a Guide isn't an easy task. Oh, no, ladies and gentlemen, being a Guide requires so much more than just the skills required to perform in the field, such as using a fire arm, or basic self-defense; there must be a _connection_ between Sentinel and Guide, a connection those of us who are mere mortals--"

Jim rolled his eyes. He was a mortal for God's sake.

"Those of us who are mere mortals can barely imagine. A _soul_ connection."

Jim looked at Warren in disgust. He didn't like thinking about souls, much less soul connections. He wasn't even sure he believed in such a thing. He just knew that when he met the person he wanted Guiding him, then he had to trust them, completely, and he had to want them to know him in every way, and some primitive part of him that he couldn't explain, and that he wanted to dismiss but simply couldn't, knew that he had to want to fuck them. And not just a screw, but a deep, serious, intense fuck.

"That's what this is, folks. That's what these sentinels are here for. They're looking for the one for them. They might be different from us in many ways: better, stronger, faster. But in one very intimate and important way they are just the same: they need love to light their way."

Jim covered his mouth and coughed, trying not to gag at Warren's syrupy nonsense. Love? It wasn't love. It was something else. He couldn't describe it. He wasn't great with words, but love was what he'd felt for his ex-wife. No, this was something deeper than that, and as he looked out at the faces flickering with firelight, he knew that he wasn't going to find it in any one of them. Whoever he chose for his Guide, they would never look at him like _that_.

"And now we'll go to Margaret in Sentinel Barnes's camp. Margaret? How's it going over there?"

The moment they were no longer on the air, Margaret now the focus of the show, Warren stood up and walked away. Jim heaved a sigh of relief, grateful to be escorted away from the fire, into the air conditioned resort. He would've been happy to go on to bed, to wake up the next morning to a nice breakfast of fruit and bagels, and then hopped the next flight back to Cascade. Instead, he was told to prepare himself for the meet and greet portion of the evening.

::::

An hour and a half later, Jim had his shirt on. That was an improvement, at least. He looked around the resort's ballroom which CBS and the government had spent way too much money on in order to make it look like a jungle. Everywhere he turned he saw only face after open, eager, face floating on an endless sea of noise. There were shoes scuffling, tapping, moving, fingers cracking and popping in nervous tics, noses being blown, hiccups being fought off, and loud bursts of voices, all accompanying the thick and pervasive scent of excitement and worry. It was all too much, and it seemed like the evening would never be over. Jim felt desperate to slip away from the men and women who followed him relentlessly, attempting to anticipate his needs before he could even think of them. He held up his hand to prevent them from following him any further once he reached the door he was searching for and said, "I think I can make it to the facilities on my own, thanks. A little privacy, please."

The bathroom was like heaven, quiet and dimly lit. The noise from the crowd drifted under the door in waves of sound that rushed around his feet, and he could tolerate that, even relax into the pull of it a little. He sat his drink on the flat edge of one of the big, bowl-shaped enamel sinks and sank down into one of the soft chairs beside them. He sighed deeply and put his head back. God, this was hell. Pure and simple. Women and men tugging at him, asking him to smell them, smiling at him with intent, _talking_ to him, asking questions, _wanting answers_, he didn't know how things could get much worse.

The flush of the toilet surprised him, but only a little. He realized that he'd been unconsciously aware that there was a person who had just urinated in the stall, but it hadn't registered enough to bother him. He lifted his head and watched with half-amusement as the kid with long, curly hair, the one who had danced around the fire, jumped in surprise to see Jim sitting there.

"Jeez, man!" He yelped, a hand going instinctively to his chest, and his eyes flying wide. "Make a little noise or something!"

Jim fought a smile and said, "My apologies. Didn't mean to scare you."

"Right," the guy said, going to the sink to wash his hands. "Of course not. Apology accepted." As he washed thoroughly, Jim studied him. He wasn't a kid, really, Jim supposed. Probably thirty years old, more or less. Still, something about him struck Jim as kid-like, and he didn't change Jim's opinion when he pulled several paper towels out of the dispenser to wipe his hands, saying, "Paper, funny thing about paper – used to be everyone was worried about using too much paper, so they put those hand blowers in everywhere. You know those hand blowers, man?" He curved one hand and stuck the other under it, making a loud lawn-mower type noise. "Loud as anything. I'm sure you noticed. They promoted them like the end-all and be-all of progressive public bathroom design. They said they were cleaner and cost less and saved trees. Win-win for the whole world!"

The kid threw his hands up and tipped his head back in a gesture of exalted victory. Then he tipped his head back down, still smiling, and said, "Anyway, now they say that they're disease vectors that just blow the germs around, and if the filters aren't changed enough, and you know how it is, man, they never are, then they are basically nothing more than ebola outbreaks waiting to happen! That's the way it always is – cultures adapt and change and then return to old ways."

Jim would have thought the kid was a hypochondriac except that he looked pretty damn cheerful, as though what he really found fascinating was the _story_ he was telling, rather than any true concern about the spread of disease through hand blowers in bathrooms.

"Wow," Jim said, without much feeling behind it. "I take it that before applying to be a Guide you were in the paper towel business, Chief?"

The kid laughed with his whole body, throwing his head back to reveal a strong throat with an Adam's apple that bobbed vulnerably. He said with a grin, "No, of course not." Then he stepped forward stuck out his hand and said, "Blair Sandburg. Anthropologist."

Jim shook his hand and said, "Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade P.D.."

Sandburg chuckled again. "I know, man, remember? You're kinda the reason I'm here."

Jim felt as though he'd been dropped back into his body from a great height. It was an odd sensation, one that left him feeling leaden and flat. He realized that, yes, for the last several seconds while listening to Sandburg talk, he'd forgotten about the applicants shifting restlessly outside of the door, the voices murmuring competitively over who would get to speak with him next, each vying for his time and attention.

"Right, of course," Jim said, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

At the end of the night, he was supposed to choose fifteen that he wanted to keep around for a second night, and reject fifteen that would then be sent on to the other sentinels. He didn't know how he was going to even begin to do that. He couldn't remember a single name. Except this kid's. Sandburg. Blair Sandburg.

"So, what's the score?" Blair asked. "Have you met anyone interesting?"

Jim looked at him hard and said nothing.

"Oh, come on. I'm not trying to get any info from you that you don't want to give. Listen, I doubt you're going to be interested in me anyway." Sandburg smiled, chuckling a little. "My research says that you're more into leggy and blonde than short and hairy, so I'm pretty sure that I won't be on your short list tonight, and we both know it."

Sandburg dropped into the matching chair on the opposite side of the sinks and gazed across the two and a half feet between them. "So, is there anyone out there that you think might fit your bill?"

Jim cleared his throat and said, "Not that I recall. No."

Blair seemed empathetic. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling. "That bad, huh?"

Jim shrugged, and aimed to look unconcerned.

"Maybe in the next batch, then? Who knows?" Blair reached out and touched Jim's knee, a warm gesture, and he smiled. "You gotta keep your hopes up, man. I mean, surely out of a 140 guides there will be someone you click with, right? Positive attitude. It's more powerful than you think."

"Right, Chief" Jim said sarcastically, and felt a small, strange peace when Blair didn't seem to react to his tone at all. Not a flinch, not even a moment taken to reinforce his still-present smile.

Blair, shrugged, and said, "Okay, so, don't panic. I'll tell you what, if you get up there and blank out, just look my way and I'll feed you names, okay? People I've met tonight and liked. What do you say?"

"I say I can handle it on my own. Thanks."

"Oh, yeah, totally," Blair said, smiling and standing up. "Of course you can. Never said you couldn't." He stood up then and walked toward the door, pausing before pushing it open, "But remember – if you blank out, I'm your man."

The cacophony of voices raised in hopeful expectation dropped to angry tones when they realized that the person exiting the bathroom was _not_ the Sentinel but another Guide applicant who had just scored alone time with the object of their fixations.

Jim stayed in the bathroom for another minute only standing up to leave when other applicants decided to ignore his request for privacy and sought one-on-one audiences with him as well, opening a flood gate of sudden bathroom urges in nearly everyone. Jim pressed through the crowd and out to the ballroom again, glad that the night was almost over.

As it turned out, when the time came, he stood sweating on the stage they'd erected amongst the vines and palm trees, the microphone held in front of him by a clinging and grinning Warren, and he couldn't remember any names at all. He threw his gaze desperately around the room. Hadn't he thought the girl in blue was kind of smart? Or was it the one in purple? What about that guy wearing the cowboy hat? Had he thought he was funny? At least funny enough for one more day in his presence, or was that the guy he'd wanted to slug for making a stupid joke about the economy? He knew with a deep certainty that he'd rather be having a root canal, or ten of them, than standing there trying to choose between people he didn't know or even care to know.

His eyes landed on Sandburg who was motioning desperately at the woman in front of him, mouthing something like the name Debbie or Dabby, probably the first and not the latter, and in a rush of relief at knowing someone's name, Jim said, "Blair Sandburg."

A collective undercurrent of a released breath ran through the room, though nothing loud enough that anyone other than Jim might hear. Blair looked stunned, but he quickly said, "Okay, um, yeah. Okay, man. Hold on." And he took a big gulp of his drink and sat it down before taking the stairs up to the stage two at a time.

Jim's hands were sweating and his heart was beating so hard in his chest that he was afraid he might start to zone on it. He didn't know how he felt about having chosen Blair first. He wondered if the guys back at the station would think he'd gone a little queer, if they would think that Blair was his _favorite_, when it had only been desperation that had made him say the name.

"And your next choice, Sentinel Ellison?" Warren was asking, and Jim darted his eyes around, looking for anyone who didn't repulse him. The blonde that Blair had pointed at...maybe. "Debbie," he said, and she smiled broadly, nodded graciously at him, and mouthed "Thank you" before joining him and Blair on the stage.

Blair stood to the right of him, and Jim turned to look at him, wishing that Blair could feed him some more names, but it would be too obvious now. Blair lifted his eyebrows and smiled, scooting a little closer to Jim, and whispering too softly for anyone else to hear, "Lots of B names here tonight, by the way."

B names? Jim coughed. B names. He tried to think of a B name. "Blair," he said.

Warren chuckled, "Yes, we understand that you liked Mr. Sandburg, but you've already chosen him for tonight's short list."

Nervous rustling around the room, and Jim felt panic rising. He should have paid more attention. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He could smell something warm and soothing, surprising because everyone was supposed to have bathed thoroughly in unscented products before they arrived. He exhaled and remembered standing with a young brunette woman who had a kind smile, her name had been.... "Markie," he said, and opened his eyes, hoping he'd gotten it right. He had, and her smile was still kind as she made her way up to the stage, her green shirt and brown pants hugging some nice curves as well.

He closed his eyes again, took another breath, and again found the scent that centered him. A flash of jeans and brown eyes, something about the girl had made him feel less anxious than some of the others. "Barbara," he said. A B name. He glanced at Blair and gave him a very small smile.

Blair nodded, and mouthed, "That's it," and Jim chuckled a little, feeling a wave of relief rush over him. He could do this. He only had twelve more names to go. Oh God. Closing his eyes again, the names came to him with small rushes of memory – a soft hand was Melinda, a soothing voice belonged to Bernice, and Joe had the cowboy hat and he was funny after all, or at least not annoying, and Bobby was a woman with a Southern accent and blonde hair, and Bitty was a little chubby and somehow smelled like vanilla wafers, and Jim liked vanilla wafers.

It went on until he'd chosen fifteen applicants to move to the next level. It seemed so arbitrary, ridiculous even, and yet he had to choose. It was part of the program. He kept waiting for something, waiting to feel "it", but a moment of lust never hit him, and he decided that maybe it would happen with the next group.

Tomorrow he would spend fending off this group of fifteen. After that, he'd choose only three to stay for one on one dates, and then those three would return to him after they had visited all of the other Sentinels, and, concurrently, the groups now with the other Sentinels had visited him. At that point, it had to be whittled down even more, several more one on one dates would take place, and then Jim would have to meet some of the applicants' families. It made Jim tense to even think about it.

::::

Morning broke while Jim was running on the beach. The territorial markers glowed in the darkness, making it clear that this was his area and his alone. The area just past the markers for about half a mile belonged to no one, and then the next set of markers would begin for another Sentinel, one of the three others who were part of these televised shenanigans. Jim wondered how _they_ felt about being strong armed into this.

The heat of the sun made the air taste and feel differently; it raised the particles of water, and increased the humidity against his skin. He took a deep breath and turned his face to the sun, running toward the water until he felt it rush against his feet, and then turned toward the resort. Long strides brought him to the stairs leading up to the pool area. He paused, hands on his knees, panting lightly. The run hadn't been long enough to do anything but raise his heart rate a little, but it had felt good to get out, away from the rustling and bustling of the resort.

He stopped now, hands on his hips, and listened, checking for movement, activity, or trouble. Not unexpectedly, the predominant noises came from the camera crews setting up, and he knew it would only be a few more moments before he was found and they would be on him like fleas on a dog.

Listening, though, he could tell that the applicants were mostly awake, many of them preparing for the day, the hum of hair dryers and the rush of showers filled his ears, and then he heard a ruckus, or a rather distorted music thumping through a tinny set of headphones, and he heard Sandburg's voice saying, "Come on, Debbie, give it listen...can't you hear how the beat echoes the tribal drums we were listening to just last night? The connection cannot be denied! It drifts over continents and throughout history..."

Jim rolled his eyes and moved on, finding nothing amiss. He risked stretching his ears a little more, seeing just how far he could hear, and discovered that the barriers along territorial markers were lined with white noise machines, effectively blocking him from eavesdropping on the other Sentinels.

"Do you think he's listening to us?" a shy, Southern voice asked from the third window to the right within the resort.

"Come away from the window, Bobby, before he sees you."

"Why? Maybe I want him to see me? Maybe I want him to know I'm interested."

Jim cleared his throat and shook his head, emptying it of the chatter, and turned back to look at the ocean, letting the white-rush of it fill him up, before turning back to start what was sure to be one hell of a miserable day.

::::

Simon tuned into the first episode along with everyone else in the Police Department. They had all agreed that Tuesday night, come hell or high water, they'd all try to make time to watch the show together in the break room of the station. Everyone crowded in, from Megan to Vera to H and Rafe. There wasn't a single person in the station who wasn't happy to have their thirst for information about James Ellison finally quenched.

"He's always been so secretive," Vera said to Megan, voicing what everyone was thinking.

The show itself started out rather dull. The four Sentinels were introduced to the audience, including some shots of them at home with voice-overs about why they were looking for a guide. Cameron, Alex, and Fong all had a lot to say on the matter. Especially Fong who waxed lyrical on the subject while boating down the Seine, gazing wistfully into the water. His physique and his sensitive nature had the women in the room swooning immediately, and all of them whispered rueful questions like, "Why can't _our_ Sentinel be like _that_?"

Jim was featured in the middle of the group, as though the producers were hoping to downplay his taciturn nature by cramming him between the other three beautiful, talented, and vivacious Sentinels. His at-home-in-Cascade shots mainly captured him leaning over the railing of a bridge, watching the people pass below, looking serious and possessive of everything around him. "This is my home," he said. "These are the people I protect. I guess I need a Guide so I can keep on doing that."

Simon rolled his eyes. Jim sounded so lifeless and boring. What television viewer, much less prospective Guide, was going to be lured in by that? Really, he was a hopeless case. Simon could only hope that Jim would somehow find someone just as boring as he was to take him on. So long as they were just as committed to protecting Cascade, Simon couldn't care less who it was that Jim ended up with as a Guide. Though, he supposed, as a friend, he hoped Jim would be happy with his choice.

A few guides were interviewed briefly, though there was a longer segment dedicated to a Blair Sandburg who had apparently been studying Sentinels for awhile, and was working on his doctorate in Anthropology with a thesis dedicated to the subject. "All tribes had a watchman, someone who protected them, someone who patrolled the borders..." Blair began, and he elaborated as the cameras followed him around a green, wet-looking campus that looked suspiciously like Rainier University. "It's fascinating, really, the way that Sentinels are drawn to the boundaries, and I mean that both physically and psychologically. They're the type of people you'll find dealing with the fringes, like drug dealers or prostitutes, because that's where the bad things happen, where the outside predators can break through and cause problems for their people. That's why so many Sentinels excel in careers with law enforcement or the military. The black and white rules help them maintain their own boundaries, even when dealing with the criminal element..."

It was revealed that, yes, Sandburg was a graduate student at Ranier. "Why, that's right here in Cascade," Vera muttered from across the room.

"Wonder if they ever met before the show?" H asked, voicing Simon's own curiosity. Though, he thought that if Jim had met Blair at one of the mixers that Simon had arranged through the university, then he was sure to be immediately out of the running, which was too bad, because the kid seemed to have a handle on Sentinels and what made them tick, something that Simon hadn't expected from someone so young and energetic.

The first episode concluded with each Sentinel picking their fifteen applicants to spend time with the following day. Alex Barnes, beautiful and charming, seemed to have no problem choosing her fifteen, and while Fong was eloquent and poetic about how difficult it was to choose between so many amazing people, he didn't seem that perplexed by who to give the ax to in the end. Cameron was methodical and systematic, having made notes with a rating system, marking a score by each name. Jim, however, hadn't seemed to put forth much of an effort the entire evening, and was now obviously panicking.

When Jim blurted out Blair's name, it became clear that some of the guys weren't watching the show because they hoped that Jim found the right Guide for him, but rather because they hoped to live vicariously.

"Aw, man, he didn't choose that brunette with the great ta-tas," Rafe lamented, running a hand through his hair. "Why would he choose that hairy guy over her? I don't get it."

"Because the hairy guy got his attention," Simon said. "The brunette with the ta-tas just pushed her boobs in his face like most of the other women there. I think Jim's looking for something more than some breasts, gentlemen. He needs a _Guide_."

Still, he was curious, too. Sandburg had obviously made an impression, and yet Simon knew that Jim had never considered a male Guide. As far as Simon knew, Jim was as straight as a man could come.

Simon looked at his watch as the credits rolled and asked, "So, who's in for tomorrow night? Same time, same place?"

Nearly everyone was in. Simon was supposed to have Daryl, but he thought the kid would probably be willing to watch the show at the station. Well, as much as the kid was willing to do _anything_ that didn't entail his friends or a video game these days.

Walking out of the station, toward his car, Simon spared a moment to send a prayer to whatever deity might actually exist that his best cop and his best friend would have some luck on this ridiculous television program. Because if he didn't, Simon didn't want to see what would happen to his friend.

::::

The second day was long. Jim had chosen a few men in addition to Sandburg in hopes of keeping things more interesting, and possibly deflecting some of the women's attention away from him, onto someone else. It hadn't seemed to work very well, though he noticed Sandburg holding counsel with a group of ladies by the pool, a box of equipment of some kind by his side, and his smile and laughter reeling them in for long periods of time.

Jim endured hours of questions and earnest eyes from various women, but he knew without a doubt that his Guide wasn't one of them. He didn't want to hurt their feelings, and yet he found himself being increasingly rude, until finally he was left alone by the towel cabana watching a huddle of women around Sandburg, and a small group of the guys talking by the ocean, making motions with their hands that indicated they were discussing sports. The rest of his prospective guides had been scared off to their rooms, all of them having accepted that they weren't going to be chosen, and from what Jim had allowed himself to overhear, most of them were relieved.

"He's just so uptight," Bernice whispered. "I couldn't put up with that."

"Me, either," Bobby had agreed.

And it didn't even hurt a little, because Jim didn't think he could put up with any of them, either.

Evening was beginning to fall, and he'd already told the producers that he would be having dinner in his room alone. They could have the big meal without him, because as far as he was concerned the prior two days had been a big waste of time, and he saw no reason to waste any more of it interacting with people he didn't like. He even said as much during his "confessional" period and he didn't even bother trying to sound nice about it.

That night he sat in his room with the patio door open, the sounds from the pool area reaching him easily, and he stared into the darkness, focusing on shadows and light patterns, as he listened to Sandburg coaxing several female applicants into displaying their naked tits, and the ensuing laughter, and splashing that occurred.

Later, after everyone but Sandburg and the girl he'd pointed out, the one called Debbie, had gone on to bed, he heard Debbie say, "I guess I just thought that it would be him out here with us, you know? Like some kind of latent adolescent fantasy of the pool party with the hot guy who is just dying to see you naked, and somehow you feel like any second someone's going to lose their bikini bottoms, and God only knows what happens next..."

"In many cultures and societies an orgy is what happens next," Blair said.

Debbie laughed and some splashing and giggling ensued before things grew quiet. Jim listened more closely, making out the wet, sticking sounds of kissing. Until Blair cleared his throat. "Debbie, you're beautiful, amazing really, but--"

"But this isn't going anywhere. I know."

There was the sound of someone getting out of the pool, and then Debbie saying, "Good night, Blair. Good luck. I hope one of us ends up with a Sentinel."

"Ditto, Debbie," Blair said, his tone more serious than his cheeky response implied.

"And I hope that neither of us ends up with this one," Debbie chuckled.

Blair said, "Ah, I don't know. He doesn't strike me as too bad. He's focused, sure, but he needs to be, and he's all business, I guess, but he just hasn't figured out how to loosen up, yet. That's what he needs a Guide for – to show him a little fun. You'd be good at that, don't you think?"

Debbie chuckled softly. "No, but you would. Good luck, Blair. Good night."

"Night," Blair said.

Jim could hear Debbie's footsteps padding away and the swish of the water as Blair ducked back in, humming tune as he swam alone. His voice was strangely melodious given the high-strung tenor of it. Jim leaned out further and listened some more, taking in the sound of Blair's heartbeat, and the way Blair's voice vibrated the surface of the water with a burbling echo. He zeroed in on the rush-woosh of Blair's blood – liquid within veins, within a body, swimming in a pool, surrounded by earth and air, and capped by atmosphere that bled into the vaccum of space. Jim, stretching out his hearing, could almost detect where the last particles of atmosphere were held fast by gravity as the sudden absence of friction eliminated all sound. Feeling himself too far extended, Jim pulled back and looked for something close and solid to focus on, something to ground him before he zoned on the line up there, spending hours or days seeking that sweet difference between sound and silence.

Blair began humming again, and his voice reached Jim easily. Jim stood up, crossed over the spongy grass the resort painstakingly planted and protected with largely-ignored signs – Please Do Not Walk On Grass – and stood, barefoot in just his pajama bottoms at the edge of the pool area. There were no television cameras in sight, and making a quick auditory and visual sweep of the area, Jim could hear production packing up for the night. He knew that they all assumed he was in bed sleeping, having written him off as the boring Sentinel almost from the beginning. Jim didn't really mind, since it meant they mainly left him alone.

Blair was swimming now, ducking under the water and popping up for gasping breaths now and again. Not the most graceful swimmer, but sturdy. Everything about Blair struck Jim as sturdy, despite his cheerful manner and endless chatting. He seemed...dependable, like a dog. A good friend, a reliable ally. Jim was certain that Blair would be chosen by one of the other Sentinels. He had something about him that made a person take notice. Jim watched him for awhile, and only when Blair pulled himself out of the pool, toweled off, and started toward the resort did Jim creep back to his room.

Jim was in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and he hadn't even realized that he was listening for it, but, there it was all the same. Two floors up, and several rooms down, Sandburg's heartbeat and then his voice, not more than a whisper, but Jim didn't need more.

"Hey, Jim," Blair said. "If you're listening, man, which I'm not saying you are, but if I were you, _I'd_ be listening to everything right about now, so if you're listening, I think you'd be a great Sentinel for the right person, and if they aren't in this batch, then don't give up. I'm sure she's here. You've just got to have some faith, man. Faith and...well, hell, I don't know what else, but something. It's late, but you know what I mean."

Jim did know what Blair meant, even if he didn't necessarily believe in it. He thought about his childhood and the years in between, how no one had ever really been able to reach him, and wondered if something as loose as faith would get him through, or if he'd have to resign his post, give up being a cop, and accept a gruesome end for himself. Because he couldn't imagine anchoring his life to someone like Debbie. Or Markie. Or Shawn. Or Joe. Or any of the others he'd talked to today.

He turned over in the bed, and listened as Blair's footsteps moved through the room, focused on Blair's breathing, and startled when Blair's whisper sounded so loud that it could have come from right next to him. "Uh, Jim? I'm gonna beat off now, so, if you're listening, could you...you know? Stop?"

Jim blushed, as though he'd been caught out as a Peeping Tom. He cleared his throat, stood up, and rubbed his hands together, staring out the doorway to his patio, gazing at the ocean in the distance, deliberately _not_ listening to Blair's breathing speeding up, or his heart pounding in his chest, or the slap of Blair's hand on his own cock. Jim rubbed his eyes and coughed. Dammit...he _was_ listening. He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the white noise generator next to his bed, and turned it on. The instant reprieve was good, right...necessary, even.

Jim sat down on his bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, gazing down at the tent in his pajama bottoms, wanting to take it in hand and do _something_ about it, but he knew better. Not now. He'd have to wait. It was too risky, more risky than zoning on the edge of the atmosphere, and, besides, he didn't have any good fantasy material anyway. There wasn't a single woman in the last two days that he'd want to get naked with anyway. Why was his cock acting up _now_? Must've been Sandburg and Debbie talking about orgies, and the pheromones Blair was putting off during his jerk-off, which Jim could still smell if he tried. But he wasn't trying. Not _trying_.

Jim consciously pulled in his sense of smell, hoping that he wouldn't need to rub a tiny bit of camphor under his nose to keep from smelling something he had no business smelling. Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. The last thing he needed was vicarious erections.

He used the fancy sink in the ridiculous A-list bathroom, complete with phone by the bath, to splash cold water on his face to cool down, and then, when he thought his dick had the idea, and it was safe, he pulled his sleep mask down, and pushed his sense of hearing into the white noise, soaking it up, as he drifted to sleep.

::::

He was a panther. It was raining, but he could see the temple ahead. He had to guard it, protect it from someone or something who was trying to get inside. He could feel them all around him, eyes in the darkness, pushing closer and closer to the temple. And then he saw it. The wolf. It was instantaneous, no time for thought. He pounced. The wolf turned onto its back, belly up, eyes open wide. He approached cautiously, and when he placed his paw on the wolf's vulnerable stomach, the wolf closed his eyes.

::::

Jim woke up, punched his pillow, and stared out the window at the star-filled sky. The clock told him it was 5:30 a.m., and he considered pulling on his running shorts, but opted for a robe over his pajama bottoms instead. He used the in-room coffee machine and took his cup out onto the patio, but the surf called to him, and he walked directly toward it, through the scrub, not bothering with the path. The ocean was dark and vast, and the break of day was only visible to his eyes only as a long line glimmering at the horizon.

"Nice, isn't it?" The voice was cheerful, though still sleepy.

Jim nodded. It was as it had been in the bathroom the other night. It wasn't as if he hadn't known that Sandburg was there on the beach, too, walking along the edge of the scrub and the sand, but more that it didn't bother him, or register as a disturbance. Well, not until Sandburg spoke, and then Jim grimaced and swallowed his coffee. "A little early for chit-chat," Jim grumbled, crossing an arm over his torso, and staring into the distance.

"Sure," Blair said. "But isn't it always?"

Jim grunted in reply and took another swig of coffee.

Blair was silent only for a moment, though. "Man, I had weird dreams last night. Do you ever have weird dreams?"

Jim gave him a look. It wasn't so much that he wanted Sandburg to go away as that he wanted Sandburg to shut up. There really was no need to talk this early in the morning. About anything. Much less about weird dreams.

"I do." Blair said. "I have weird dreams a lot. Sometimes, I dream that I'm not even human. How wild is that?" Blair chuckled. As he went on talking, his hands moved with his words, as though carefully laying out his thoughts before they flew away from him. "In some cultures, they believe that when you dream that you're a specific animal that it's your totem speaking to you. Your spirit animal, you know? Like your guide."

"Tell that to my supervisors," Jim muttered.

"What?"

"I said, tell that...never mind."

"Oh," Blair ran his hand through his unruly hair, pushing the length of it behind his ears. "I get you. You're talking about being your own guide, right? Or not needing one? If you have a spirit animal, that is...but it isn't really the same, Jim, because the spirit animal is more about directing you to what _you_ need, and a Guide is more about keeping you alive. There's a critical difference there--"

"Chief," Jim said.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Blair cleared his throat and then laughed a little. "Right. Early yet. Too early for chit-chat." But as though he could only keep his tongue still for a few seconds at a time, he began again. "So, tonight you choose the person you're going to have a one on one date with; pretty exciting stuff, huh?"

Jim said, "Have you suddenly turned into Warren now? 'How do you feel, Sentinel Ellison? Must be great to have all these groupies for no reason at all, huh?''"

Blair laughed again. "Yeah, man. Sucks to be you. I'm just writhing with pain on your behalf over here, let me tell you." Blair shook his head, and then said, "Well, seriously, though, what about it? Do you have someone in mind?"

Jim let out a long breath and shook his head.

"Yeah, even though the idea of all these people lining up to be at _my_ beck and call doesn't seem all bad, I can't say I blame you. No one here really floats my boat either, man."

"Sycophants," Jim muttered.

"I was gonna go with 'boring', man, but, yeah, you said it," Blair agreed. "Well, you'll find a way to endure an evening, I'm sure."

Jim wasn't.

Sandburg went on, "Anyway, tomorrow, in the morning, I leave for the next Sentinel camp. I think it's Cameron's, though it might be Alex's. I don't think it is Fong's yet, though. He's next week sometime. Warren told me."

Jim gripped his coffee mug more tightly and took a drink, saying nothing.

"Yeah, so I'm kind of excited, you know? I mean, who knows what lies ahead, but I've just got a good feeling. Women tend to like me, if you know what I mean." Blair made a motion with his hand, and Jim cleared his throat again and looked away. Blair seemed a little embarrassed when he said, "Well, I'm a people person, really. People like me."

"Are you sure about that?" Jim asked.

Sandburg laughed and bumped Jim's shoulder. "Oh, come on. You saw the way the women respond to me, didn't you? I kept them away from you yesterday anyway. Don't I even get a thank you for that?"

Jim smirked. "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Chief. Good work seducing the other applicants."

"You're welcome—and, hey, wait a minute there, I didn't _seduce_ anyone, well, okay, maybe a little, but they all enjoyed the seduction. It was welcome. If you know what I mean."

Jim chuckled and shook his head. "You're something else, Sandburg."

"That's what the girls always tell me," Blair said, pumping his fist and making an "uh-uh" sound.

Jim snorted, shook his head, and took another sip of coffee. "Sounds like your love life is criminal."

"Yeah, there are plenty of women who would probably pay to see me locked up. And I don't mean that in the kinky way."

Jim smiled around his coffee cup, and stared out at the ocean. He took a deep breath and sorted through the odors. Salt, sand, sea. Coffee, toothpaste, the odd scent of scentless shampoo. Sweat, warm skin, exhaled breath. Calming. Centering. Jim liked it. Hell, Jim liked Blair. Maybe he'd have the one on one date with _him_ tonight. At least they both knew where they stood.

Blair moved in front of Jim, his eyes earnest, but not in the fake way that everyone else seemed to look at him, Blair said, "Yeah, well, wish me luck, okay? I'd like to get chosen by someone, and I think my best hope lies with the ladies. I'll leave you alone now."

Jim sipped his coffee and said, "What's the rush? Got somewhere to be?"

Blair smiled and said, "No rush, man. No rush."

Jim cleared his throat and asked, "So that's your preference?"

"Huh?"

"Women are your preference?"

"What? Oh, sure. I mean, I guess so. I've been with a few men in my time and it's just...different, you know?"

Jim didn't know. Well, not since he was about ten years old, but that had been kid-stuff, just experimentation, nothing real. Nothing important.

Blair went on, "Not bad. More...primal. So, you know, if Fong decided I was the one for him..I could live with it." Blair grinned wickedly. "Oh, hell yeah, have you seen him? Incredible, man. Just incredible. Strong arms, big legs – being held down by him...?" Blair seemed to drift off on that thought. Then he cleared his throat and said, "So, yeah, I could live with it."

Jim shifted, his stomach lurching. Too much coffee. He dumped it out into the sand beside him, watching as it soaked in, avoiding Blair's eyes.

But Blair kept talking, "But, yes, all in all, I tend to be with women. I like their softness, and there's never anything bad to say about a nice pair of...you know? Am I right? Besides, women seem to think I'm adorable."

Jim scoffed. "Ah, maybe that's what those women were saying about you when I thought they were calling you a dork."

"Oh, yeah? Is that what they were saying?" Blair said, sarcastically, bumping against Jim's arm with his shoulder.

Jim shrugged and sat down in the sand, digging his feet in. Blair didn't hesitate to follow him down. Jim watched as Blair pushed his hair out of his face again. "Where did I put that hair band? I swear, Jim, it's the world's biggest mystery outside of where the socks disappear to...where do the hair bands _go_?"

Jim said, "I understand that Bon Jovi is still making a good living and kicking up their heels in New Jersey in between tours."

"Haha, man, hilarious," Blair said mildly, giving up searching his jeans pockets for the band and just letting his hair fly wild in the morning wind off the ocean.

They sat together in silence for a few minutes until Jim said, "So, good luck then."

"Yeah, for sure," Blair agreed. He patted Jim's knee and stood up, stretching, the lift of his t-shirt revealing a length of dark hair between his navel and the top of his jeans. "Later, man."

Jim listened to the sound of Blair walking away, the pattern of his footfalls, and the creaking of his joints. Jim closed his eyes as the sun peeped over the line of the horizon, bright and overwhelming.

He took a deep breath, and mixed in with the scent of the sea and the salt and the sand was a touch of Sandburg's sweat and warm skin, and it centered him, filling him with a sense of peace. Until he heard the television crew commenting, "Yeah, got that whole thing. Gonna be hard to edit it so that it's appropriate for a family program, though." Another voice , this one with an British accent, said, "Yeah, that Sandburg guy. He's a cheeky one."

Jim didn't turn around, didn't look. As much as it made him feel trapped to have his every move recorded, it was part of what he'd been signed up for, and unless he wanted to just quit, go home to suffer it out, and to put his family and friends through hell with him, then he'd have to deal. At least for now. Maybe if something got serious with someone. Then he'd have to put his foot down...someone's throat. For now, it was just Sandburg, and that was okay.

::::

Simon and the rest of the police department were less surprised than Sandburg looked when Jim chose Blair to have the first one-on-one date.

"I knew it," one of the guys from Homicide said. "Ellison's a fag."

"Explains a lot," a woman's voice called out, but Simon didn't see who it was.

"Shut it," Simon said, glaring at the guy's captain, demanding with his eyes that he be taken in hand. "A Guide is not a lover in the traditional sense. It's about a soul connection, not a genital connection."

"Right, and Ellison's soul is a fag."

The captain from Homicide took control before Simon had to kick some ass himself, but the room felt tense after the slur.

"Everybody calm down," H said. "It's just the first set of fifteen. He's probably just choosing someone that he doesn't want to kill. You know how Jim is. He probably doesn't like any of them."

Simon agreed, but there was something about Sandburg that kept Jim's interest. _That_ even Simon could see. As it was, the host, Warren, was referring to the two of them as the Odd Couple, noting that Sandburg called Jim by his first name from the very beginning, and that Jim hadn't even flinched. Warren went on, "It will be interesting to see how Jim reacts to Blair going to the other Sentinels' camps. One of the first traditional signs of an intent to bond is territorial behavior from the Sentinel toward the prospective guide. So far, it appears that Ellison is exhibiting this behavior completely unbeknownst to himself. Watch this clip of him smiling at one of Sandburg's comments--despite being several rooms away...."

After the clip aired, complete with time stamps at the bottom of the screen to show that the smile directly followed Sandburg's comment, and to indicate that the prospective guide, Markie, with whom Jim was having a conversation had not said anything worthy of such a stunning grin, Warren continued, "And yet Jim seems unaware of these behaviors. What does that mean for both of them? Tune in tomorrow to see what happens during tonight's one-on-one date."

Simon sighed, glanced around the room at the mixed-up expressions on his colleagues faces. He didn't know if sending Jim to this television program had been such a good idea. Demystifying the Sentinel not only to the world, but in front of his men, didn't seem like a good idea to Simon. Then, again, it hadn't been Simon's call. And Jim was running out of time. There were only a few years left at the most, and some had said that Jim, because of the years he spent repressing his gifts, might have less than that. Unless a Guide was found. So, really, what other choice had they had? Seeing Jim suffer? Seeing him lose control of his senses, and eventually shut down entirely, and even, quite possibly, die?

Simon cleared his throat and ordered everyone from the room. He didn't ask who would be back the following night. In fact, he took another route entirely. "From now on, if you want to watch it. Watch it on your own time. In your own homes." What had seemed like a good opportunity for camaraderie now felt dangerous and a breeding ground for trouble. "I don't want to see you here. Any of you. Got that?"

Tense looks all around, and Simon didn't really care. He glanced up at the screen again. He felt like he'd just watched Jim masturbating or picking his nose. It was one thing to see a man like Fong actively searching for a Guide, and it was another thing to watch his friend, Jim, revealing things about himself for the whole world to see. Secret things that Jim didn't even know about himself.

"Come on, Daryl," Simon said, pulling his son up by the arm. "Time to get you back to your mom's. She'll say I had you out too late as it is."

Daryl jerked his arm away and glared around the room. "I don't see what their problem is," Daryl said.

"Who?" Simon asked.

"Them," Daryl said, nodding toward the men who were still muttering words like 'fag' under their breath. "It's not like he's asking _them_ to suck his cock."

Simon choked back a laugh, covering his mouth so that Daryl wouldn't see. "Come _on_, boy. I've got to get you home. Stop dilly-dallying around and get a damn move on."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir, Dad, sir, Captain Banks, _sir_."

"And enough lip from you," Simon said, escorting him out the door, proud and pleased that his kid, at least, wasn't a bigot.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, if this isn't the most romantic thing I've ever seen," Blair said, sarcasm and laughter mixing his voice into a higher pitch than usual.

Jim turned from studying the line of colors from the sun setting on the horizon, and lifted his water-filled champagne glass in a toast, and said, "And it's all for you, Chief."

Blair laughed, walking closer to Jim, hands stuffed into his suit pockets, his tie a bit askew, and his hair loose in the wind. "Yeah, me...or whoever you'd chosen for tonight."

Jim smiled, a small laugh caught in his throat. "Well, you know how it is – it's all the same, a little roses and a little champagne will have any potential guide--"

"On their back with their legs in the air?"

"Shh, it's a family show, Chief," Jim said.

Blair nodded and lifted his brows excitedly. "Yeah, a family show. Such great values here. Prostitute yourself for a chance at your dream."

Jim cleared his throat and looked away. "Is that how you see it, Chief? Is that how you feel about what you're doing?"

Blair backpedaled quickly. "Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Jim. I was poking fun, trying to keep it light, you know how it is. Things get intense here, and I...."

Jim turned to face Blair again, his eyes sweeping over the table at the top of massive black rock they were standing on, which had required four sets of stairs welded to the side to reach, and the table covered in roses and rose petals, the food served beneath shining covered platters, and champagne for Blair, bottled water for Jim, and the sun setting on the horizon of the crashing ocean. It was romantic, it was beautiful, and, ultimately, it did feel like prostitution. Jim was okay with that for himself. It was part of the deal, but to think that Blair felt that way—it unnerved him, made him feel unsteady, as though the rock were shifting beneath him.

"Do you, Chief?"

Blair's eyes were on his face, studying it, serious and nervous, too. "Truth?"

Jim snorted. "Yeah, truth."

"Well, no and yes. I'm here of my own volition. I'm aware of the games they play, and that it's all fake in a way, but I know that I'm also looking for something real."

Jim crossed his arms over his chest, unconvinced.

"Yeah, yeah, I know that's what they all say on those stupid reality shows, and I know that this is one of those stupid reality shows, but...I don't know, Jim, man, all right? I just know that I wanted to do this, and here we are, and look! Champagne for me, water for you, lovely view...and we're friends right? Or starting to be? So, why waste it? I know you didn't choose me for any reason other than that you don't want to punch me...very much. So, no worries there, man. Just take some deep breaths, see this for what it is, and let it go. Let it go...that's it. In and out, and have a drink of water, too, while you're at it. It's good for the mind _and_ body. Hydration is very important in life, in more ways than anyone really--"

"Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up. I'm breathing now."

"Right. And drinking. Good job."

Jim glanced at the cameras that had been rigged along the perimeter of the stone, recording everything about their interactions. He could feel them, hear them, smell them all the time. They were everywhere but in his room, which he'd maintained as an important exception, and they'd allowed it when he'd pushed. Still, he forgot them sometimes. He had to or risk losing it like a caged animal.

"So, what's for dinner?" Blair asked, rubbing his hands together. "I'm famished."

"Hope you're not a vegetarian, Chief," Jim said.

"Nope, bring it on."

Several hours later, Jim sat with a pretty intoxicated Blair in the giant beanbag chair that had been placed on the rock for them to relax on after dinner. At first they'd talked about Blair's experience at the Guide program at Ranier University. It was a good program, one of the best in the country, and it took a very talented guide candidate to gain entry to it.

"All guide candidates have the natural ability to guide Sentinels out of a zone and to form a bond," Blair said. "Just like with Sentinels, it is presumed to be genetic, but they still haven't discovered what combination of genes make that happen. Some of us, though, seem to have a stronger connection, and that's part of the testing that you have to go through before you can even get into a program, much less a program of Ranier's quality."

Jim knew, though, that it took more than that to attend Ranier University. Blair was exceptionally intelligent, Jim could tell that from simply being around him, but he would have had to passed some incredibly difficult exams with flying colors to be admitted to the Ranier program.

"I started studying for it when I was sixteen," Blair said, taking another sip of wine. "When I was kid, I'd stolen a microscope – yes, Jim, I was a science nerd, okay? – and the cop who talked to me just happened to be a Sentinel, and he touched my arm during the lecture, and he was like…woah, you know? Just totally shocked. He said he'd never felt a stronger Guide, not even his own, and he's the one who got me started on this path."

Jim rubbed a hand over his eyes, confused by the weird feeling in his stomach.

"And that was that. He was like, 'If you become a Guide, you can have as many microscopes as you want. I promise you that.' And I was, like, 'Cool,' but when I started studying tribes and their sentinels, and I couldn't stop learning, absolutely starving for it, man, that's when I knew what it meant to be predestined for something."

Jim felt Blair slump against him a bit, wondered if he should move, or make the kid sit up, but he didn't. He said, "You'll make a great Guide, Chief."

Blair's smile, and the way he tucked his hair behind his ear tugged at Jim's heart, and he wanted to protect that motion, that expression, and he understood completely why the Sentinel who met Blair as a kid had encouraged him.

Somehow, a little later, they started talking about Blair's old lovers, and he began comparing the technique of one girl to another, adding, "I showed my last girlfriend my journals, man, 'cause I thought she'd appreciate the honesty, you know?"

"You mean, you hoped she'd learn a thing or two?" Jim countered.

"Well, maybe, it wasn't a conscious thought, but, yeah, maybe."

"Just how detailed were these journals, Chief?"

"Jim, I'm an anthropologist."

Jim chuckled, sipping his water, enjoying the wind in his hair and the scent of saltwater. "Detailed."

"Yep."

Jim smiled and shook his head, his arm going around Sandburg's shoulders and shaking him. "You're supposed to burn the evidence; don't you know that? When I got married, I burned all the old letters from the old girlfriends."

"A purification ritual--"

"No, just an offensive tactic."

Blair shifted out from under his arm, and sat up a little straighter. His face was red from laughing and talking, and probably from drinking, too, but he looked pretty charming with his expression all serious and innocent in a strange way. Jim wondered if it was his eyes that made him look like that. He'd never seen someone look at another person with such open, trusting eyes. "You had a wife, Jim?" Blair asked.

Jim swallowed and looked away from the supposed windows to Blair's soul, and he shrugged. "Yeah, didn't last. I wasn't.... It didn't work out."

Blair nodded, leaning back against the beanbag chair, turning his eyes up to the sky. Jim glanced up at the star-filled night, too, and tried to follow a line of light from each star, and he wanted to laugh a little when it seemed that each one directed his eyes back to Sandburg's face. He wondered if someone had spiked his water, because he was feeling strangely jovial, loose, and easy. Kind of high.

"It's hard...when it's not a guide," Blair said, softly.

Jim nodded, closing his eyes as he thought of Carolyn. He tried not to think of her too often. The sense of shame, the overwhelming failure of it all, made him feel too much, and it was hard to deal with his emotions when they came on that strong...another reason he needed a guide.

"You loved her," Blair said, stating it as fact.

"Yes. I did. But love isn't everything," Jim said.

"Was she blonde?"

"Kind of blonde," Jim said, smiling at the memory of Carolyn's trips to the hairdresser to get her hair made lighter.

"Leggy?"

"Definitely leggy." Jim thought of her legs a mile long, the way they'd parted to let him in, and he shook his head a little to get rid of the image.

"Was it the sex?" Blair asked.

Jim blinked. "What?"

"It's just that all the research indicates that a Sentinel without a Guide has trouble with sex."

"No, that wasn't the problem," Jim said, suddenly acutely aware of the cameras posted all around, suddenly wanting to drop through the massive ton of rock beneath him.

Blair was still talking. "There was this one guy, right? Sentinel back in the old days before we knew a lot, and he kind of blew the curve. See, all Sentinels are inherently bisexual, because, you know, the right Guide can come in any kind of package, and a Sentinel has to be able to bond with the Guide when presented in whatever form. As you know, Jim, I mean, after all you're the one who spent 18 months with them, the Chopec thought that guides were reincarnated from life to life, and that when one Guide died, he passed power directly to another Shaman until his spirit could be reborn, and on and on. They thought it true of Sentinels, too, and so there could occasionally be massive age differences to work around, and there was the issue of how to deal with their culture's unfortunate bias against homosexuality in general, but the Sentinel and Guide could be exceptions to the rule--"

Jim let Sandburg babble on because at least he wasn't asking Jim about sex with Carolyn anymore, at least he'd left that behind. Jim cleared his throat, half-listening, the words "inherently bisexual" hitting him way too late in the game to dispute, but the next thing Blair said caused him to do a double take.

"But this one guy, a big honcho, high up in the military, back in the day when the sexual aspect of the Guide and Sentinel relationship was still not completely understood, well, not that it is _completely_ understood now, of course, because there is still plenty of confusion, but, anyway, this guy was married, right? Had a wife, and he was crazy about her. I met her later, did some interviews with her, and she's a lovely lady, old now and everything, and probably watching this show," Blair waved absently as though saying hi to her. "But, yeah, so everyone thought that his male guide was just...you know helpful on the job, kept the Sentinel focused in battles and stuff, but after his death, the guide and the wife came out and admitted that they had been involved in a vee triad the whole time!"

Jim's eyes darted from Blair's knee, to his blabbering mouth, to the edge of the rock dropping off into the darkness, and back again. "A vee triad?" Of all the things to say, Jim didn't know why that was what came out. How about 'Enough,' or 'Shut up', or 'I don't want to hear it,' or any number of things to make this stop?

"Yeah, the wife and the guide focused on the Sentinel...sexually, you know?" Blair made a v-shape with his hands. "See, the Sentinel was was the pivot point, the focus. He was really possessive, territorial as all Sentinels are, and couldn't handle either of them touching each other, but the only way he could perform with his wife was with his Guide's help. That's how it started apparently – just the guide helping him not to zone during sex, helping him to perform, and then it went from there to the Sentinel getting it on with both of them together, at the same time."

"What?" Jim said, standing up quickly, almost jumping back from Blair, who looked confused.

"Yeah, man, what's the problem? Everyone benefited from it. The Guide and Sentinel got what they needed from each other, and the wife got her needs met, which saved their marriage. It was all good in the end. After the Sentinel's death, the Guide and the wife lived on together as friends." Blair made the V-shape again, and said kind of chuckling. "You know, a vee."

Jim took a step back with half-clenched fists. "Listen, Chief, I'm not bisexual."

"Well, actually--"

"I'm not bisexual," Jim reiterated. "And it wasn't sex that ended my marriage. It's not easy being married to a Sentinel. That's what ended my marriage. That and nothing else."

Blair's hands came up in surrender. "Of course, man. Sure. Whatever you say."

The lack of conviction in Blair's voice irritated him, and Jim took a moment to keep himself in line. "Look, forget it. Let's just call it a night."

Blair's eyes darted away, hurt. "Sure thing. Sorry, man. I, uh, didn't mean to push your buttons. I just...yeah."

Blair swallowed hard, nodded, and stood up, too. His tie was long gone, having fluttered off into the breeze over the rock when he'd taken it off. Hair tufted where his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his pulse beating rapidly there, and his heart pounding loud enough for Jim to hear. Blair was scared. Of what? Of him?

Jim took a deep breath, turned as though to go, but for some reason he paused long enough to say, "Good luck, Chief."

Blair's expression of vulnerability cut through Jim's anger as he said, "Sure. You, too."

Jim asked, "Do you need help getting down from here?" Blair was drunk. That was probably why he'd said those things; it couldn't have been anything more.

"Nah, man. I'm okay. You go on. I'm just gonna sit here awhile and...admire the sunrise."

Jim glanced toward the ocean. Yes, there on the horizon, a small glimmer. They'd been here all night. It didn't seem like that much time had passed, but he supposed it had. After all, Blair had told him endless stories about growing up with a hippie for a mother, and the literally hundreds of women that he'd dated, and Jim had soaked it up, taken it in like he was starved for it.

Jim studied Blair's form sinking down into the bean bag chair, his normally clear and open eyes now gazing glumly toward the horizon, not looking at Jim at all. "Listen, Chief," Jim started. "I'm sorry. You're a good kid, okay?"

"It's all right, Jim. Sometimes I talk too much. It's a problem of mine. You'd think I'd learn." Blair cleared his throat and went on, "I'm not a kid, you know. Thirty and counting. Definitely not a kid."

Jim wanted to comfort him, but the flash of embarrassment at the thought of the cameras recording everything shot through him, and he glanced around, torn between wanting to make Blair feel better and wanting to get back to his room. Still, Jim took some pity and said, "You're young. There's time."

"Yeah," Blair said, softly. "Releasing with love, man. Thanks."

"Huh?"

"Just something my mom says. Listen, Jim. I'm leaving for the next camp in a few hours. So, hey, I just want you to know that I've liked knowing you. If nothing else, maybe after this is all over we can be friends."

"I'd like that."

Blair smiled. "Me, too."

Jim turned his back then, glancing over his shoulder only once at the image of Blair huddled down into the bean bag chair, his hair in the wind, and his breathing shallow and off-rhythm. Jim took the stairs slowly, thinking of Blair's offer of friendship, imagining a day when this mess was all over, thinking of meeting Blair for dinner and laughing over food. But what of his own Guide? Would she like that? And what if Blair was chosen by another Sentinel? Territory issues would preclude any friendship between them, then. Blair knew that.

Jim sighed, a deep sorrow filling him at the thought that he might not see Blair any more after all of this was over. To be honest, it wasn't often that Jim met someone he wanted to call a friend.

::::

The next group of thirty five applicants arrived and they weren't much better. Having learned from experience, though, Jim kept a small pad on him during the introduction evening and made notes to trigger his memory when it came time to choose. There was no one, though, that caught his interest, and despite being able to call out names easily and quickly, it was just as random and meaningless as the first time had been.

For the next several days, he went to bed early every night, declining even to choose a person for a one-on-one date, which caused a great deal of hurt feelings, but Jim couldn't imagine meeting one of them on that huge black rock where he'd been with Blair and force himself through the motions of a date together. Somehow it felt like it would be tainting something, insulting Blair, or reducing him to just one of the many groupies that Jim could barely tolerate.

The next group wasn't much better, though there was an older woman who reminded him of Sally, the maid who had basically raised him and his brother, Stephen. Jim spent most of his time with her, asking about her life in the Philippines, though never talking to her much about Sally; those were his private memories, painful and raw even now, and he didn't share them with many people, much less a complete stranger. She was his choice for the one-on-one date, too. She was charming and wonderful, though completely aware that the connection between them was pure nostalgia on Jim's part, and not an interest in her as a guide. After it was over, Jim realized that he couldn't even remember her name. He just knew that it wasn't 'Sally'.

As the days passed, Jim began having even more odd dreams. It had come to the point where he nearly dreaded sleep, because he knew that he would wake up a few hours later, drenched in sweat and exhausted. There was the usual dream, the one with the panther and the wolf; it was the same dream he'd had for nearly a decade. But, in addition to that, after Sandburg's lewd allusion to the vee triad, he'd begun having dreams of Carolyn again.

In his sleep, he twisted in the sheets to images of her legs spread, her arms open, receiving him, taking him in, and in his dreams there was always a voice-over, familiar and soothing: Sandburg saying, "Breathe in and out, release with love, hydration is important, man, that's good, lots of B names, by the way, and that's it, Jim, just like that..."

He'd wake so hard that he wanted to cry, and he'd have to take cold showers to cool off, to come down from unwanted arousal.

Blair had been right; it was sex that had ended his marriage. He couldn't make love to Carolyn without zoning. He hadn't been able to from the beginning, not without disappearing into the sensation, sometimes for hours, and once for over a day. The last time, he'd come out of the zone with Carolyn still under him, her breathing shallow from his weight, and her eyes distant and glazed. Trapped. She'd been trapped under him for two hours. She said she understood, she said she wasn't angry, but after that they'd never had sex again. Not even with Carolyn on top. She was just too far away from him by then. Not that he'd ever been good at letting her in. No, he'd never been good at that part of the marriage, either.

As for his status as one of the stars of this bizarre reality show, every day Jim thought about calling the whole thing off. He hadn't met anyone who could possibly be his guide, and he was starting to feel horrified, even humiliated, that he would have gone through all of this, prostituted himself in front of the camera, his pals at the station, in front of God's whole earth, only to have no pay off. Only to go home and eventually lose control of his senses, lose control of himself, and eventually enter an endless zone-out and die.

He felt hopeless and angry when the fourth and final set of thirty-five applicants arrived. Among them was a young woman named Allison. Jim couldn't say what it was about her, but she made his heart skip a beat, and his cock feel heavy. He couldn't concentrate when she talked, and he found himself thinking only of her pussy, wondering how it would taste when wet with lust, and how it would feel wrapped around his cock. Her voice was like dripping honey, slow and golden, and he felt drugged and thick in her presence.

It was terrifying. Like time stood still when he was with her. Intoxicating. Breathless. Hot. Jim had a hard time finding more words than that to describe it. His mind simply shut down the moment he got near her.

The feeling she evoked was so strong in him that he didn't even ask her for the one-on-one date, afraid that he'd end up between her legs on that bean bag chair showing the world his face in ecstasy, bonding with her before he'd even decided if she could guide him in the middle of a stand-off, or help him stay focused during an investigation. Wanting more than anything to fuck her, did not a Guide make, not even close.

So, he asked another woman, Jane, who was quiet and nerdy, and didn't say much, to spend the evening with him on the big, black rock, and he felt guilty about it off and on all night, because while Jane lurched from one topic to another, attempting to make a connection, Jim found himself sniffing the air, looking for Allison's scent, and when he'd manage to catch the soft strain of it, he'd taste his lips and have to drag his thoughts away from licking a long line up her thighs to find the soft, wet folds that would smell even more strongly of her.

Knowing it was going nowhere, Jane excused herself early, and Jim was relieved. He sat on the rock staring out at the ocean for hours. He left before dawn, though, walking the line of the beach and water, still in his suit and trailed by cameras. He was hot, itchy, and overwhelmed. And when he wasn't thinking of Allison, and the strange way she made him feel, he was wishing that Sandburg was around to talk to about this, to see what he'd say about it all, because even if it was useless information or biased opinions, Sandburg would have _something_ to say, and then Jim wouldn't be alone, drowning in this mad lust.

The next morning, before he was dressed, there was a knock at his door. It was Allison, standing there speaking in words that couldn't seem to penetrate his brain, wearing a sun-dress printed with fruit and flowers, and a flirtatious smile. Jim opened the door wider, taking her into his room, his hands shaking as he closed and locked the door behind him, shutting it in the face of the camera crew, shutting it before he could change his mind.

He kissed her then, wet and soft, and slippery smooth. He groaned in her mouth and pushed her onto the bed, bringing his thigh up, pulling her against him, humping hard and mindless, moaning when her small frame pushed up against his larger one. She shoved her hands under his shirt, her fingertips felt electric on his nipples, and he was caught on the sensation...tripping on that wire of lust again, falling into the whole of it, shivering, hanging, trapped in a buzzing, endless field of touch.

He came out of it with Allison still under him, her voice small and scared, tears on her face, and he pulled back, shaking and still hard, so hard that he felt like he couldn't breathe, but he had to stop, this couldn't happen, and her voice...her voice...it didn't ground him but send him flying, and he put his hand over her mouth, saying, "Shh, shhh, shhh sweetheart. Don't cry. Just...go. Go now. Please."

She did. Jim knew that she did because her flip-flops slapped softly across the floor, the door opened, and a bustle of activity, of questions, of her voice soft and still wet with tears responding with a flippant tone, and Jim was shaking like a leaf, fear roiling in his stomach, and lust still rushing through his veins. He collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the brief zone-out, and stayed there motionless, afraid to even move.

Hours later he woke to the sound of pounding on his door. The producers were worried, they'd sent doctors, but Jim waved them off. He showered, washing the scent of Allison off of his skin, and then studied himself in the mirror. It had been a close call. Had they...had he...they would be bonded now. Jim frowned. It was off, though. Something had gone wrong. She was a guide. Jim shouldn't have zoned with there to guide him back, even if she wasn't his guide, she was _a_ guide...unless...he had heard stories that once a Sentinel had begun a bond...but, no, that was impossible. Jim closed his eyes, bowed his head, and he could taste her on his tongue. She was like apples in fall. He could lose himself in the flesh of her. He almost had. And that wasn't a good thing, not when he didn't have a way back.

::::

Sandburg returned the next morning, and there was a weird rush of confusion when Jim saw him standing in the lobby of the resort, his hair in a pony tail, his lips pushed forward in a thoughtful and frustrated pout as he stared down at his bags. Jim felt divided. He could walk across the room to Allison as he'd planned, apologize to her, and see if he could possibly actually hear her response, or if it was just another lost cause. Or he could stop and greet Blair, ask him what was wrong, and why he had that dissatisfied look on his face.

He hesitated, glanced at Allison by the door to the resort's bar, her blonde hair twisted up in a complicated braid, and her bust highlighted in a shirt that left little to his imagination, and he felt himself flush all over with renewed lust. He took a step in her direction, but something caught his eye, and he turned his head, zeroing in on Sandburg shuffling through a bag and muttering under his breath about his CD player. Jim realized he had chosen Blair over Allison only when he knelt beside him and asked, "Missing something, Chief?"

"Yeah, my CD player." Blair's hands lifted and fell in ongoing animation as he went on, "I left it behind somewhere, and I don't even know where. I had it last night by the pool at Fong's resort, and, oh, man, Jim, you should see that place. You got totally robbed, because Fong's resort is just so _cool_."

Jim lifted a brow, not sure how he felt about his current territory being disparaged.

Blair rocked back on his heels, his hands moving to indicate the size and shape of things. "They have a giant swimming area with dolphins, which, yeah, has some ethical issues attached, but opportunity is still opportunity, man, and, well, Fong chose three of us to go in with him, and, _man_, Jim. It was so cool! Amazing! I felt like I was communicating with them, and they made these amazing little noises!" Blair attempted an imitation. "I'd love to tell my mother about it, but I think she'd probably call PETA on me. Jim, have you ever touched a dolphin? They're so soft and – wait, wait! Yes, I had it by the dolphin pool this morning before we left. I was curious to see if they would like Kate Bush." Blair laughed a little and looked mildly embarrassed. "I mean, yeah, there is some incidental evidence that animals might have musical preferences, but --"

Jim attempted to get Blair back on track. "Chief, your CD player. Do you need to call the other resort and ask about it?"

Blair sighed. He dropped down to his ass and propped his arms up on his knees, dangling his hands in front of him. Blair looked around the resort lobby and sighed again. "Nah, man. It's a lost cause by now, I'm sure. I'll just have to buy another one when I get back home. Or, well, get where ever it is I go from here."

That statement caught Jim's attention, and he said, "So, you met the other Sentinels." He left it at that and waited, anticipating Sandburg's enthusiasm to fill in details. His stomach lurched a little, anxious for his friend.

"Yep," Sandburg said, and that was all.

Jim's stomach twisted, imagining Blair with the Fong, thinking of how Blair had described him, wondering if Blair had been held down by Fong's strong arms. Or the women – Blair had thought he stood a better chance with the women Sentinels. Did they hold him close, kiss his lips, whisper in his ear and then ride him like there was no tomorrow? Jim's fists were clenched, and his jaw tight. He tried to think of something to say to prod Sandburg into a confession, but before he could Blair jerked his chin up and indicated that Jim should follow the line of his gaze. "That woman seems to want your attention, Jim."

Jim felt his breath quicken when his eyes met Allison's cleavage, and he shifted on his heels as his cock went instantly hard. Blair's rumbling chuckle next to him penetrated his flare of lust, and he managed to pull his eyes away in time to see Blair make a hubba-hubba face.

"It's not like that," Jim said gruffly. Though it was like that. Just exactly like that. Jim licked his lips thinking of Allison's apple-flesh and how his teeth might mark it, _had_ marked it, had left little scores along the tops of her breasts. He'd zoned before he'd tasted the tips of her apples.

"Sure, Jim. And water isn't wet. Listen, man, I think that's great. You've had luck after all. I'm happy for you."

Speaking of wet, Jim's attention was back on the wet line of sweat collecting delicately between Allison's breasts, and he wanted to know what that tasted like, how it smelled. Sandburg shoved his arm a little and said, "What's keeping you here, man? Go over to her. Go on."

He wanted to stand up then, go to Allison, but he was afraid. The lust was overwhelming and he was afraid he might start licking her chest there in front of everyone, in front of the cameras, which were rolling even now, taking in this conversation with Sandburg.

"Calm down, Jim," Sandburg whispered. "You look like you're about to jump out of your skin. Just chill a minute, man, and then go over to her. Take a few deep breaths, clear out your system, and get some control."

Jim felt torn, hooked from one end pulling at him with desperate lust, and a strong fear that rooted him still to where he was; something was not quite right, something was definitely wrong. And it wasn't just the cameras taking in every moment and every breath. There was something else.

"Jim, breathe," Sandburg said, and his hand on Jim's wrist brought Jim back around.

Jim took a deep breath and let it out shakily, and then another.

"Good, that's it."

Jim breathed deeply again, and it was there – Blair's distinct scent, the smell of his warm skin, the tang of his blood running underneath it all. Jim felt a wave of calm descend on him.

"See? A little breathing exercise and all is right with the world. My mother says that if everyone just stopped and really breathed then we'd have world peace."

Jim glanced at Blair who was smiling and seemed to kind of glow from the inside out. "You talk about your mother a lot."

"Do I?" Blair asked, smiling. "Now, go on. You can do it. No ravishing her at the bar, though, Jim, Take her back to your room for that, man."

Blair pushed at Jim slightly, and with that small shove Jim rose, began to walk toward Allison, only to stop and turn back. "Hey, Sandburg."

"Yeah?"

"What about you? Did you have good luck?"

Sandburg shrugged. "Hard to tell, man. Hard to tell. I guess I'll just have to wait and see. Now, go. Shoo. Before she gets bored or thinks you've changed your mind."

Jim nodded and smiled at Blair, turning toward the bar, where he struggled to sit calmly next to Allison for several hours while she talked about God knows what because he couldn't think at all in her presence, but, damn, could he ever _feel_.

::::

It was evening again and the birds had grown bold in the twilight, screeching in preparation for sleep. Jim stood by the edge of the ocean, trying to ignore the cameras that continued to roll around him. He considered it a success that he'd only broken one camera so far, and only nearly-punched one camera man during the filming, and he wasn't sorry about that. The guy hadn't backed off, and Jim didn't ask twice, not when he was already so over this ridiculous set-up that he could barely see straight.

Allison had gone to her room alone, and he'd been burning with an unsatisfied desire since then. He knew she'd been right to leave. It wasn't the time to consummate a bond between them. Hell, when he was away from her, and down from the high that her scent seemed to provoke in him, he wasn't even sure that he liked her. For one thing, he couldn't hear what she was saying, finding himself so zoned on his lust for her that he couldn't operate beyond faking a laugh when she laughed, or nodding mindlessly as her mouth moved. He had no idea what kinds of things he'd agreed to while he was with her; she could have said she thought Hitler had the right idea, and he would have nodded merrily along, clueless to her words.

And that didn't feel safe. Nothing about the situation felt safe anymore. The cameras, the applicants, the entire scenario made him feel like there wasn't enough room to breathe, like he needed to get out, or to get _in_, or to just be somewhere, anywhere, but here. Most of all, Jim wanted to get away from the cameras, but he was sick of his suite, and sick of the resort's bathrooms -- where he hid out far too often. Hell, the guys back at the station in Cascade were going to think he had problems with constipation given how much time he spent in there.

The station – he missed it. He missed the wail of sirens, the way his city felt around him, the smell of it and the rhythm of it, like a heartbeat of its own, pulsing and regular, something he could understand, trace the boundaries of, and protect. There was little to protect here that felt like his own. Just his assigned space and his own body. His own body. God, for some crazy reason, Allison felt like a threat to the safety of _that_.

It was hard to sleep at night in the resort. The bed was soft and the sheets of the highest quality, but it wasn't home. There were no sounds of _his_ city. He felt anxious when he thought of how he'd left it vulnerable and unprotected to go on this idiotic jaunt in search of a Guide. Damn Simon. Damn the council. Damn the governor. Damn all of them. This entire thing had left the land of Stupid and entered Ludicrous days ago.

Jim turned to face the resort and heard the noises from within – the busy cooks in the kitchen preparing the morning's meal, cutting fruit, and singing songs. The housekeeping staff pushing their rattling trolleys down tiled halls, knocking on rooms, a chorus of "housekeeping" bursting in odd intervals throughout the structure, followed by the white noise of vacuum cleaners, carving hollow spaces in his listening field.

There. It was only when he heard it that he even knew he'd been seeking it.

"The Sentinel has strong territorial needs. Any kind of trespass of the boundaries, particularly by another Sentinel, can result in a challenge, a hostile interaction that can end in violence. Some Sentinels have such intense territorial responses that one might say it borders on paranoia --" Sandburg's voice unspooled across the distance and Jim followed it into the resort and down hallways, passing doorways and passages still listening.

"No, strike that – not paranoia, more like...well, yes, like paranoia."

Jim registered the scribble of pencil on paper and knew that Sandburg was writing. He followed the looping scrawling noises after Sandburg's voice stilled until he found the right door. He glanced behind him at the camera crew that had followed, rolled his eyes, put his hand in front of the camera and said, "Could you just --" he began, and then he groaned and shook his head. "Forget it."

Blair answered at the second knock, distracted and his face covered with streaks of lead, as though he'd absentmindedly scratched at it with the end of his pencil. "Right, Jim, hi. Come in, just...hold on. I'm in the middle of a thought here." Blair moved out of his way, and Jim shut the door in the face of the camera crew, and looked out the peep hole watching as they debated, and finally moved away down the hall.

Blair muttered as he wrote, the words "Sentinel" and "territory" coming into play often. It was only after a few minutes that he seemed to remember Jim standing by the door and waved toward the bed. "Sit down. I'll just be a minute. Hold on...yeah, yeah, markers like scent and touch and sound, yeah. Markers. Hmm..." He wrote rapidly, his eyes bright and focused on the paper, his head bent so close that his nose was almost touching it, and his body moved in a constant rhythm, as though his excitement at his own thoughts could not be contained.

Jim sat still on the bed watching him, observing how his bare feet jiggled and his ass moved. Blair's heart rate was up enough to cause the front of his shirt to jerk just a little with every beat, and his hair was tangled into a messy pony tail like he'd pulled it back in a hurry. And, yes, closer inspection proved that there was pencil lead there, too. Jim could smell it in the air, academic and somehow cruel, and he could see it in tiny silvery flecks embedded in Blair's curls.

"Jim?"

Jim shook himself. "Ah, yeah. Pencil lead."

"What?"

Jim cleared his throat. "Nothing."

Blair had turned in his seat, his face a little flushed from the creative rush he'd been enjoying, but he was focused on Jim now, and Jim could feel that attention bringing him to center.

Blair said, "So, hi, man. Not that I'm not glad you decided to stop by, but...what's the occasion?"

Jim looked around the room. Something was off. "This place has cameras."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, man, all the applicant's rooms are bugged and filmed at all times. Well, until after lights out, thank God, because I kind of need that alone time, if you know what I mean. Except for the bathrooms; they're never filmed." Blair paused and frowned. "I mean, I guess...I _hope_."

Jim said, "I'm tired of being filmed."

"I bet you are, Jim. Hell, I'm tired of it, too. We all are. It'd be nice to just pick your nose, you know, and not worry who might be watching."

Jim stood up and circled the room. One in the ceiling, completely visible, one nestled behind the mirror, and, yes, he could get that out, and two recording devices in the lamps by the bed, and the remote control, and a final camera attached to the closet door aimed into the bathroom.

Blair watched with wide eyes and an open mouth as Jim systematically pulled each camera and recording device free and destroyed it. The final camera he held up to Blair's face and said, "Any words for the viewing audience?"

"Hi, Mom," Blair said and then smiled when Jim crushed the small camera in his hand. "Whoa-ho, man, intense!"

Jim tossed the broken things in the trash can and sat down again. Blair didn't move from his chair but looked at him with amused curiosity flashing over his face.

"So, pick your nose, Sandburg," Jim said.

Blair laughed, then shoved his middle finger in his nose and wriggled it in and out.

Jim smiled and then laughed. The first deep laugh he'd had in a very long time.

::::

He didn't normally drink much because it did funky things to his senses, but when Blair opened the microfridge in the room and tossed him a beer, Jim popped it open without hesitation and took a long draw.

"Ah, that's good," he breathed.

"Yeah, the real stuff. Mexican beer. Nothing quite like it." Blair took a long gulp and then turned his desk chair around and sat with his arms crossed over the back. "So, what's up? What brings you to Casa del Sandburg?"

Jim shook his head and rolled his eyes, letting out a frustrated breath. "I don't know. I just...I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Doing here in my room, doing here on this show, or doing here on this planet?"

Jim grunted.

"All of it?" Blair surmised.

"Yeah, all of it."

"Okay, man, let's start at the beginning, then. You're here as a Sentinel, to protect Cascade. That's why you're on this planet. And, believe me, Jim, Cascade needs protection. I mean, hell, just the other day at Ranier there was that kid who took his teacher hostage. A friend of mine. And if it hadn't been for you..."

"Ranier? You know people at Ranier?"

Blair laughed. "Come on, man, don't you know? I'm from Cascade. Remember? I met you once before at some lame Guide-Sentinel mixer. I guess I didn't make much of an impression."

Jim blinked at Blair. "What?" He couldn't imagine meeting Blair and not remembering him. "When was this?"

"I don't know. Sometime last year. It was a really boring party. I didn't go to the next one. Total snooze fest." Blair made snoring noises and rolled his eyes. "I mean, seriously, you would think that a bunch of Guides would make for fantastic party people, right? I mean, they are intelligent, empathetic, and have been trained to really break through barriers in one of the most guarded groups of people in the world, right? Still, they throw the most boring parties I've ever attended. Even here – everyone is so focused on the Sentinels that it's hard to have any fun."

"Fun," Jim said, still trying to place Blair in his memory.

"Yeah, you know, Jim, fun. That thing that makes life worth living."

Jim nodded. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had fun, per se. There had been satisfying days, sure, and times when he felt like he could rest at night without too much care, but the last time he'd had fun? Maybe tonight when he'd broken the cameras in Sandburg's room with Blair's smile and elevated heartbeat as his audience and applause.

Blair clapped his hands, focusing the moment and Jim's attention. "So, Jim, what's up?"

"You know, Chief, I'm sort of tired of all the focus being on me. Let's talk about something else for a change."

"Okay, sure! Like...?" Blair gestured, indicating that Jim should lead.

"I don't know, buddy. I mean you've had all these crazy adventures since we last talked, saw a bunch of Sentinels, went to their compounds...so, what's up?"

Blair grinned, made another hand gesture that looked like something the rappers on television sometimes did, and said, "Wassup? You wanna know wassup?"

Jim grimaced a little but nodded. "Yeah, sure. Talk to me. About something other than me."

Blair leaned back in his chair and said, "Oh, man, where to start, Jim? Where to start? First I went to Alex Barnes's resort which was just...weird, man. I don't know. She seemed to like me, kissed me on the cheek at one point, but then it was like...I don't know. She's intense, man. Very intense."

"Intense?"

"Yeah, you know – everything was hard and bright and fast with her. Not much to tell there, man. I don't think she disliked me, but I know I wasn't her number one. I get the impression, man, that no one is her number one. Just herself."

"Selfish," Jim supplied.

"Something like that. Entirely the opposite of Fong, who was incredibly into me, to my surprise."

Jim's stomach tightened and he pulled on his beer, a long swallow, and then asked as casually as possible, "And how did you feel about him?"

Blair shrugged. "Hard to say. He asked for me on the one-on-one date, and it was pretty romantic, very focused, if you know what I mean."

Jim cleared his throat. "No, sorry, Chief. I don't."

"Well, you know...focused. He was interested. I don't know, though, there might be someone from a prior round. It's impossible to say at this point. I do know, though, that he's a good kisser. A very good kisser." Blair waggled his brows and smiled happily. "Definitely would not have a problem with that aspect of being his Guide."

Jim clenched his jaw, and said nothing. He looked down at his beer, gauged that he had half of it left, and decided to pace himself. He didn't like the feelings rushing through him. Somehow he was certain, without a shadow of a doubt, based entirely on a hunch, of course, that Fong was not the right match for Sandburg. Perhaps the other one, Cameron? Yes, from Atlanta.

"Jim?" Blair asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I guess I was just wondering about Cameron."

"Cameron...she's, well, her resort was all about health and fitness. It was more like a spa, actually. I guess if I was going to sum each one up: Alex's place was all business, Fong's place was more pleasure oriented, you see – couples massages and champagne all day, fun activities like dolphins and jet skiing and horse back riding--"

"Horseback riding?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, a tour of the island. He took a handful of us."

"He chose you?"

"Yeah," Blair nodded. "Gotta admit it, Jim. You're sort of...the most stand-offish of the Sentinels participating in this thing."

Jim shrugged. He wasn't sure he cared. He'd never liked investing his time with people he didn't give a damn about; he saw no reason to act any differently here just for the sake of public opinion.

"That doesn't hurt your feelings, does it, man? It's just who you are. You're not here to impress anyone, and I respect that. Entirely. I hear what they're saying, but it's not fun and games. This is our life we're talking about, right? And a lot hangs in the balance here."

"So, you were summing up?" Jim said.

"Right...well, Cameron is all about health and fitness, mediation and personal awareness. And you...well, um, heh, big guy, you're all about personal responsibility. I dig it."

"Dig it?"

"Hippie. Mom. Sorry." Blair smiled and then stretched. "So, now that I've spilled, your turn."

Jim could feel the beer swirling through his system, bending things inside of him, and moving other things aside, and he felt like he was on the verge of understanding something; he just didn't know what.

"Jim?" Blair said, again. "Tell me about Allison. I take it she's the one?"

Jim startled out of his thoughts and focused on Blair again. "Allison? Yeah, maybe."

"Why 'maybe'? She's got your dick on a string, man. Everyone can see that."

Jim scrunched his face, embarrassed that his lust was so obvious, and plagued again by doubts about it.

"What? You look like you're in pain."

Jim took a big gulp of the beer, feeling the alcohol in his stomach, waiting as it hit his veins. "Yeah, no. Not pain. It's...I don't think it's a good thing. That's all."

Blair looked surprised. "Not a good thing? I thought you wanted a Guide. I thought they weren't going to let you keep on being a cop without one." Blair stood up and moved his chair aside, coming to sit next to Jim on the bed, turned so that one of Blair's shins pressed against Jim's hip, and he had a full view of Jim's face.

"So, talk to me. What's the problem? She seems great."

"She is great. I...think. I don't know. It's just that when I'm around her--" God, even thinking of her scent made him hard. Jim closed his eyes, embarrassed, and hoped that Blair didn't notice. But, of course he did.

"Ah, I see, man. Too much of a good thing. Makes it so you can't see straight."

"I need a Guide, Sandburg, not a hard-on."

"Right." Blair nodded, deep in thought. "Surely that will go away once you've...you know. Bonded."

Jim snorted. "And if it doesn't? What then? What if I don't even like her once I can...see straight?"

"Come on, Jim, surely you don't think you'd feel this strongly for someone that you wouldn't even like on a personal level."

"Chief, do you think your dick is a good source of council?"

Blair looked down at his own crotch speculatively and then sighed. "No, of course not, it's just that this is different, right? I mean, this isn't like anything else you've experienced before, so it has to mean something, don't you think?"

"I don't know."

"But with other women it's been...different, right?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. There haven't been a lot of women."

"Come on, Jim. You told me you burned the letters from the old girlfriends, and look at you, man, there had to have been some women!"

"Not since my senses came fully online, no. Just my wife." It was a confession that normally would cost him, but, for some reason, talking to Blair, it didn't really hurt to say it. "And with her, I couldn't...not without zoning. Just like that guy. I...can't."

"Wait...not even with just...you?"

Jim glared at him. Now _that_ was not something he was going to say aloud.

"Oh," Blair swallowed hard. "Oh, wow. Wow. I had no idea. I guess I should have had some idea, what with all I've read about Sentinel sexuality, but I...well, wow. I see what you mean, man. Yeah."

"Yeah," Jim echoed.

Blair stumbled on, "So, it _was_ the sex with your ex-wife, huh? I'm sorry about that, man. I must have come across as so insensitive. I'm sorry about that, you know."

Jim blew out a breath and said, "Don't worry about it, Chief. We all say dumb things sometimes."

Blair nodded, and Jim could tell that he was looking for something funny to say to break the tension, but all that came out was, "Wow."

Jim nodded. It felt strange to finally admit it to someone, but since he'd started really experiencing his senses full-on, there had simply never been anyone aside from his wife that he was attracted to sexually. Now, whether that was because he was too focused on protecting his territory to really look, or because he'd never met the right woman, he just couldn't say.

But, worse than that, his friendship with his right hand had been over for some time, too. It just never seemed to be enough to get him off, and he was too afraid of zoning all alone with his cock in his hand for God knows how long to really let himself go with it. It had been quite some time since he'd had an orgasm. Even his dreams had failed to provide him with sexual release. He couldn't trust his judgment now, not when it came to the way Allison made him feel.

"Okay, Jim, I have an idea. This is going to sound crazy, but you're just going to have to trust me." Blair jumped up from the bed and grabbed another beer. "Drink both of these, okay? I'll be right back."

Jim took the beer from Blair's hands but shook his head. "I don't know. Chemicals affect me...."

"Look, I know that. Of course, I know that. Here's the thing, though, I really think this will help you, and when you think about it, what choice do you have? You either trust me, or you take a leap of faith with a Guide you're not sure about. What do you want to do here?"

Jim sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. He looked at the bottles of beer in his hand and took a swig from first one and then the other. He considered asking more questions, but the alcohol pooled in his stomach, and dissipated into his system making that seem less important.

Blair nodded, his face serious and calm. "Good. Now, listen, I'll be right back. I'm just going to duck into the bathroom for a second."

Jim continued drinking the beers as Blair had requested. He was starting to feel woozy on the slow, honey-like trip of it, though, and the room tilted a little. Jim realized it wasn't the room, after all, but that he was leaning to the side, sliding down onto the bed.

He glanced at the bottles, only a couple of swallows left in both, and he drank them down, feeling the wonderful release of control, the drunken swoop of the world around him. His eyes went in and out of focus as his ears went wonky bobbing up to the top of the ocean of sound that was the resort, hearing voices from the upper floors He tried to understand them, but the words were like echoes of actual words, because he single them out.. And then he was diving back through layers of sound to the room he was in, and a sudden whimper caught his attention, something close, something important and necessary. A whimper...he needed to help someone....

It was only as his eyes slowly opened that he realized he'd closed them at all. A wolf sat at Blair's desk, gazing at him with blue eyes, one paw raised, and small whimpers issuing from his throat. Jim felt something welling inside, a sound, a noise, a response – a roar, and he blinked, holding it in. Yes...he'd blinked, and yet the wolf stayed, watching him, whimpering. Jim turned toward the bathroom and called out, "It looks like you've got a wolf in your room, Chief." And he started to laugh, but it wasn't really very funny. He hiccupped and threw the empty bottles on the floor, laying down on the bed, staring at the wolf across from him.

"So, pal, what's going on?"

The wolf cocked its head, put its paw down, and whined.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" Jim tried to remember if the wolf ever talked in his dreams. He didn't think so. "Your panther friend isn't here," Jim said, feeling the lie of it. He was the panther after all.

The wolf whimpered again and Jim sat up on the bed. "Are you hurt, buddy?"

"Who are you talking to, Jim?" Blair's voice was loud in the quiet room, and Jim realized he'd been listening so hard for the wolf to speak that he had to rein in his senses.

Jim jerked his eyes toward Sandburg in the doorway, hair up and still smelling of cruel pencil lead, but also of soap and water.

"Jim?"

Jim shook his head, trying to think clearly. "The wolf..." he said, trailing off, knowing that when he looked back the animal would be gone, that there was nothing there.

"Wolf?" Blair asked.

"Forget it. This was a bad idea." Jim said, sitting up further, trying to figure out if he could get back to his room without tipping over, if he should even try.

"Wow, man, you're tanked," Blair said. His voice was close now, his breath hot by Jim's ear as Blair's arms propped him up, scooted him back on the bed toward the headboard and the pillows.

"'S'right." Jim said, pointing at him. "I told you. You said you knew." Jim wanted to say more but his tongue felt so thick that he wasn't sure that he could.

"Well, yeah, I knew, but I didn't _know_." Blair seemed to be considering him seriously, and Jim turned and looked him in the eye, staring at him as Blair evaluated _something_.

"Bad idea," Jim said again.

"Wait," Blair said, his voice a little shaky. "I don't know. I mean, it might be a bad idea, but I think we should try it anyway."

Jim shook his head, slumped down on the pillows, and said, "Nah. I should go to sleep now. I'm going to have enough of a hang-over tomorrow."

Blair crawled up next to him on the bed. He was shaking. Jim could feel it vibrating through the bed.

"What's got you so keyed up, Chief?" Jim yawned and the world seemed to enter through his mouth. He could taste the sea, the clouds, the stars. He let it all out and shook his head again, trying to get free of the sensory overload. "I'll be okay tomorrow. Soon as it wears off. Shouldn't have listened to you, though."

Blair's nervous swallow was as loud as a thunder clap. "Shh, Jim. Let me just try, okay? For you."

"Try what? I think you've tried enough." He didn't know what he meant by that, but it had something to do with the spunk scent lingering on Blair's freshly washed hands, and the description of Fong's kisses.

"No, listen to me." Blair scooted beside him, rested along the length of him in a way that was pretty intimate, and Jim scooted instinctively away, but Blair followed close behind. "Think about Allison, okay, man? What is it that you like best about her? Is it her hair, her smile? What really gets you going?"

Jim gritted his teeth together as a wave of lust rushed over him. Autumn apple scent and warm heartbeat under soft skin. Oh, God, he was so hard it hurt.

"Yeah, okay, think about that some more. She's warm, and she smells good, like...what?"

"Apples," Jim muttered. Crisp fall mornings surrounded by fallen apples, the bubble-gum pink of Silvia's sweater, the flash of her silver braces, and her blonde hair in the breeze. "Autumn. Harvest."

"Yeah, she's warm, and crisp, and somehow wholesome. I see that, Jim. I see that."

Jim was twitching with want and need, his cock aching and jerking in his pants, wanting his touch so badly. Blair's breath was hot and damp and close to his ear as he whispered, "Jim, I've got my eyes closed, you can touch yourself if you need to, man, I won't look. I'm just here to keep you from zoning okay. If you want to...go ahead."

Jim shook his head. No way in hell was he putting on a show for Sandburg. He swallowed hard and tried to force himself to move, to leave, but his cock was aching, and Sandburg was talking again, saying something important, but Jim wouldn't listen, and yet he did. This was crazy.

"She's just two stories above us, Jim. Can you smell her? Try. Focus and smell her, think about it, find her scent."

Jim was shaking now, but he found himself obeying Blair's voice, his nose sifting through musty wood floor boards, the dusty carpets, the musky scent of body odor, and the foul scents of bathrooms, and then he found it: the smell of warm rushing blood wrapped in memories of his first crush. Silvia, fifteen years old, and older than he by several years. Apples had surrounded them, sun-warm and plump, juicy. Silvia fed him one, juice from it running down the palm of her hand, onto her wrist, and he'd leaned forward, licked it, tasted the sweet of her skin, and then there had been air, and breathless dropping to the earth, a smack on his back of a branch on the way down, and Silvia's voice, half-scared, half-angry, and full of sweetness, backed by the sunlight in the sky, Jimmy had laid on the ground staring up at her, and she'd been an angel. Apples had never tasted so sweet.

"Silvia," Jim whispered, understanding flooding him.

"Yeah?" Blair asked, his voice confused but warm.

"Oh, God," and Jim arched up off the bed, his cock twitching and shooting, breaking into orgasmic release as the memories filled him up. Silvia in the sunlight, Jimmy in his bed, hand under the covers moving so fast, and, God, the world exploded in pleasure for the first time, wet, spurting, convulsing pleasure, and Jimmy could still taste the apples and her skin. "Silvia," he said again, jerking on the bed, coming, and Blair's hand on his arm, voice in his ear, "Relax, yeah, there. Just there. Good. Jim...good. It's okay, stay here, don't go too far. Just...right here."

Jim shook and shivered, the orgasm lasting far longer than he remembered possible. He quivered and ached, falling back to the earth, the scent of apples replaced by Blair's warm skin and the sharp cut of pencil lead, and he opened his eyes. Blair was leaning over him, his eyes big and worried, the light behind him obscuring his expression, but his concern was evident in his voice. "Okay, Jim? Okay? Are you okay?"

Jim blinked and stared at him, trying to get control of his emotions which ricocheted between ecstasy and joy, mortification and anger, and even gratitude. He blinked at Blair who swallowed hard and nodded his head. "It's okay, Jim. It's good. I'm...I'll, uh, yeah. I'm going to, yeah, leave you alone now. Okay? Yeah. Okay. I'll be...well, you can find me if you...yeah."

Blair backed away from him carefully. He flung his thumb toward the door and said, "I'll just..." and he turned and left, closing the door behind him, and Jim could hear his footsteps race down the hall, pursued by a stampede that Jim recognized as the camera crews.

He dropped his head back to the pillows and stared at the ceiling above, seeing the molecules, the particles, the mesmerizing nature of it, drifting in a weird place, trying to figure out how he felt, and just coming back to one thing. "Chief...."


	3. Chapter 3

At about midnight Jim crawled out of the window of Blair Sandburg's room, managed to scale down the side of the building using balconies as footholds, stumbled over some roots from the shrubbery, and twisted his ankle. He was still feeling some residual effects of the alcohol he'd consumed earlier. He limped down to the sea. He knew the moment the camera crews spotted him. They started shooting and he stood motionless staring out at the ocean, tossing darkly in the night.

A hand on his arm got his attention. "Jim?"

It was Warren. The guy with the microphone. The host of the show.

"Jim, did something happen with you and Blair earlier tonight?"

Jim's lips twisted and he snorted. He shook from free from Warren and said, "If you don't get that thing out of my face and you don't get these assholes to leave me alone, someone's going to get hurt."

Warren's face blanched even in the darkness. Jim was momentarily grateful for whatever it was that gave Sentinels that terrifying edge that pushed others away. Warren nodded and backed off, and though Jim had a hard time believing it, the camera crews disappeared too.

He sank down into the sand, feeling the soft give of it under his ass, and he let himself think, really think, about something he'd never considered. A male guide. It terrified him.

The glisten of the moon on the waves brought to mind Silvia's braces, the way they'd shimmered in the sunshine, and thoughts of Silvia no longer hurt him the way they had for years. He felt relaxed, deeply contented, and like a hard, hurtful part of him had finally given way inside. Silvia had been Bud's daughter, of course. Bud, who had coached his football team, encouraged him, told him to follow his gut, unaware of how much the simply words, "trust yourself" had meant to him.

And Silvia had been Adam's sister. Adam, who had been Jim's friend, maybe even his best friend. Jim had never been able to tell Adam the truth, had never told him about his senses, or how Adam's steady hand on his wrist when they were trekking through the woods had kept Jim focused, and even led him out of early zones. Jim sighed and shook his head. In a way, maybe Adam had been his first guide, even if they had been too young to truly bond. Even if they didn't even know what that meant back then.

It would have been a hard time for any kid, but when his powerful senses first began to burble to the surface as adolescence began to change his body, his father had been unavailable, unbelieving, and cruel. And then Bud had died. Murdered. Jimmy had found his body. And nothing was ever the same again.

After Bud's death, Jim had swallowed his senses, shoving them down, tucking them inside so deeply that he'd forgotten them until Peru. And then he'd let them come roaring back, using them to survive, using them to keep the Chopec people safe. Incacha had been his guide then, his mentor, and, again, he'd remained unbonded, because he'd been waiting. Waiting for what?

Waiting for the woman who glistened in the sun and smelled of apples like Silvia? Or waiting for the boy like Adam, the one who accepted him completely, and didn't even blink twice when he zoned?

A sudden shudder through him hard as the memory of finding Bud's dead body rocked him. God, was that it? Was it Bud's body destroyed and empty that kept him from thinking it even now? Jim's eyes clouded over and he pressed his forehead to his knees, allowing himself to drift for just a moment on memories of Silvia's smile, Adam's face, and Bud's encouraging voice, and the smell of his tears as they mixed with the sand was confirmation. Jim didn't want to lose, didn't want to feel that abandoned and hurt again. Never again. The fall from the apple tree had been ecstasy, but the fall into hell when he found Bud's body had been endless, and maybe was still going on. Maybe he still hadn't hit bottom.

Daylight was coming. He could smell it on the air. He lifted his head and realized he'd spent the night lost in memories, lost in thought, and when he stood up, he could feel them behind him, the production crew, the potential Guides, the resort staff, the doctor and his medicines, all of them standing there waiting to see what was happening, unsure of what to do. Jim took a deep breath, and, yes, Blair was there, too.

Turning around he saw Blair standing in front of the crowd, his arms out to his sides, as though holding them all back, and his honest eyes were scared, nervous, and wide. Jim nodded at him tersely, and Blair dropped his arms. They were all coming at him then like ants or soldiers or solid bits of matter drawn inexorably toward a larger object, a tide, a gravitational pull. All except for Blair who stood by the steps to the resort, his hands in his pockets, his hair blowing in the wind, and an expression his face that told Jim that he was on his own with this one. Blair had done all that he intended to do, and Jim's stomach lurched as Blair turned and walked away.

"Jim, are you okay?" Allison's voice in his ear was fine, quite lovely really, but nothing special. He nodded at her words and began to ward off the others, shaking free from the doctors, saying, "It's fine. Leave it. Get back. Just..._back off_."

Jim could hear Warren saying to the camera that eccentricities such as staring at the ocean all night were common with Sentinels, and that while they had not seen such strange acts from the other three participating in the program, it could be explained by the fact that Sentinel Ellison had come into his sensory abilities later in life, which could lead to a higher level of difficulty adjusting them to fit in with social niceties. "As you might imagine," Warren continued. "Whatever Guide such a sentinel as Ellison chooses will need to be prepared to accept these behaviors and to deal a Sentinel who is perhaps a bit of a…misanthrope."

::::

Simon sat alone on his sofa with a cup of soup and his remote by his side. He blinked at the television screen, adjusted his glasses, and blinked some more. Nothing changed. Ellison was still obviously falling into a bond with Sandburg, and yet seemed unable to cope with that fact. Or to even acknowledge it.

Simon sighed. He was glad he was alone. If he was at the station with the other idiots, he'd probably have to be slapping some heads right about now. Instead, he could sit and fret over his best detective alone.

He'd wondered how it was all going to play out. Sandburg had definitely thrown himself very willingly into the running with all three other Sentinels, and the date with Fong had been pretty steamy. It had left Simon nearly frothing at the mouth on Jim's behalf, even though Jim, the idiot, hadn't made any kind of claim at all at that point.

Still, something had happened the prior night in Sandburg's room. Anyone could see that. But the kid wasn't talking and Jim was freaking out. It was a mess. This entire thing was a mess.

Simon felt a wave of horror and embarrassment for Jim that his most intimate feelings were being broadcast loud and clear for the world to see and speculate about. The day before, Simon has seen Jim's face on a tabloid in the supermarket, and a quick perusal had disturbed him mightily. Questions about whether internalized homophobia could be overcome in a Sentinel/Guide situation had plagued the article, and a psychiatrist, who 'did not know or treat either Sandburg or Ellison', spoke about supposed evidence that Jim was a bigot, and that was why he couldn't recognize his attraction to Sandburg. Simon had gotten so pissed off that he's thrown the magazine on the floor of the supermarket. Ellison wasn't a homophobe, he was just the least self-aware man on the damn planet. That was all. But stuff like that didn't sell magazines, and the tabloid press was _not_ going to give the man a break. That much was evident.

As he cleaned up his dinner, rinsing out the cup of soup and washing the spoon, Simon thought about what he'd learned about Blair. The kid seemed to be pretty brilliant. He'd be a real asset to their team in the P.D., and Simon thought he'd even be able to get past the annoying and boundless energy if the kid could contribute not only a better Jim, but his own observations as well.

Simon went to bed early, his mind preoccupied, and he dreamed of sending a secret message to Jim. When he woke the next day, he shook his head and chuckled, asking, "And what the hell did that mean?" The message had been, "Choose the wolf."

::::

Apparently the psychiatrists told the camera crews to back off from Ellison. It was the final day of this little social experiment anyway, and the time had come. Jim would meet with the other three Sentinels that night in a tribal circle and each would make their claim on a Guide, or, as Jim intended, no one at all.

The other applicants avoided him, too, including Allison, and, more importantly, Sandburg. Jim wandered the length of the coast line marking his territory over and over, kicking at the sand, watching the birds, thinking in rhythmic circles like the waves, a rush of memory in, a tide of thought out, and a another wave of emotion to deal with sometimes strong and smothering, other times smooth and sweet. Jim toed the line where the wet sand met the dry and waited. Somehow he knew that he would come.

It was late afternoon, only hours before the tribal fire that would end this mockery, when Sandburg showed. He stood at the bottom of the stairs leading down from the resort for a long time, his hands in his pockets, his hair in the wind, and his face careful. Jim fought the urge to call for him, to wave him over, knowing that it had to be on Blair's terms, that he had to see if Blair had the balls to come to him after what he'd done.

The first step was full of hesitation, but then he walked with a certain stride, his eyes on the horizon instead of Jim, and his back ramrod straight. His face, though, reflected all of his uncertainty, and he stood quietly by Jim for a long time before he said, "I'm clean, man. No recording devices. Nothing. We can talk."

Jim nodded, his eyes scanning the line of the land and then the sea again.

"We _need_ to talk," Blair said again.

"Yeah, about that," Jim said. "Maybe some talking should have happened last night."

Blair nodded, his eyes unguarded as always.

"A little consent goes a long way."

"Jim, look, I couldn't know what would happen..."

"Cut the crap, Blair. You knew. Or suspected. Isn't that what you thought _should_ happen?"

Blair took the verbal hits like a pro, accepting the accusation and offering no defense. "You're right, Jim. I wanted it to happen. I kind of hoped it would. I admit, I sort of thought it would be good for you."

"You're not my Guide, Sandburg."

"Overstepped," Blair murmured.

"Overleaped," Jim said.

Blair's swallow was wet and thick, and Jim wanted to touch his throat, feel it squeeze the saliva down, but he forced his hands to remain still.

"Honesty?" Blair asked.

Jim said, "Probably for the best at this point."

Blair said, "You have to believe me, Jim, I never thought that last night would happen. I didn't plan it, or contemplate it, or really think it through at the time. I know I should be sorry, Jim, and, in a way, I am. Sorry that you feel hurt, that you're uncomfortable. Sorry that you were vulnerable and that you regret that. But, the truth is that in a really big way, I don't regret it, either, because seeing you that way, so open and letting me in, God, it was the biggest high of my life, man. The most exciting thing I could have imagined. Like scaling Everest or something. The ultimate for me."

"Too bad you thought I needed to be intoxicated to get to see that."

Blair's guilt marred his face but then he stared into Jim's eyes with an unexpected challenge. "Didn't you, though, Jim? Can you honestly say you'd have gone there with me or with _anybody_? With Allison? Can you?"

Jim clenched his jaw, pulled his eyes away, and watched the ocean churn. "Honestly, Chief?"

Blair lifted his brows expectantly.

"No. But it still didn't give you the right to take me there, either."

Blair's face hurt Jim to look at, the guilt and the devastation, even more the disappointment. Jim could smell Blair's roiling stomach, the sick feeling under his fear.

Blair kicked the sand and said, "In Cascade, when I saw you at the mixer, I watched you all night long. I had you nailed, completely pegged as the ultimate loner Sentinel. The kind of guy who ends up dying because he can't bond." Sandberg shook his head and squinted at the setting sun. "Truth is, Jim, when I saw you on the list for this, I couldn't believe it. Jim Ellison? The man I'd met was so shut off, so disinterested, and, let me make this clear, because I want you to be absolutely sure of this -- I never thought even for a minute that I stood a chance with you. But it was your name that made me sign up. For some reason, I thought, if Ellison takes this path, then you should look into it, too. So, I did."

Jim grunted, not sure what this confession served.

"I may have come here because of you, Jim," Blair went on. "But I didn't come here _for_ you. Let's be clear on that, okay? Do you understand what I'm saying here, man?"

"Not really, Sandburg. No."

"I'm saying that now, having met the other Sentinels, and after...well, after last night in my room...." Blair cleared his throat, turned and met Jim's gaze with an open expression, like the wolf in Jim's dream laying on his back, his stomach there for the panther to rip open with his claws. "I'm telling you now that I'd like to be your Guide, Jim. I think I'd be good at it, and I think you need me."

Jim scoffed, but Blair grabbed his arm. "Just hear me out, okay? I've thought about it. I get along great with Fong. He's funny, and he's smart, and he seemed to really like my body, which is great, you know, fantastic."

Jim jerked his arm away from Blair, stuffing down the urge to grab Blair and inspect him for evidence of this Fong's manhandling, disturbed at the strength of that desire.

"And Alex, damn, man, she's beautiful. Stunning really, and kind of sweet, though I get the vibe that she's playing me, and that makes me uncomfortable in deep and scary ways," Blair shook himself. "But I might be wrong...it's just something about her makes me think of you, and want to be near you, and that tells me all I need to know about Alex."

Jim felt his panic rising, his hands itching to grab Sandburg and look him over from top to bottom, to sniff him and make sure he still smelled the right way. God, how had it never occurred to him that Sandburg would be – would be – would be-- what? Would be an option for the other Sentinels? Of course he knew that, he'd wished him luck, and he hadn't been insincere at the time.

Blair went on, "And Cameron? She's fine. Boring really. Very into yoga and meditation, which you would think would be right up my alley, but somehow makes me think of my mother, and that's no good, man. No good at all." Blair shook his head, his lips twisted in amused disturbance at his thoughts, but then he was back, looking right into Jim's eyes and saying, "But it's more than that. It's not even like the others aren't good enough, so you're the best choice, because, I'm sure it isn't news to you that you're taciturn and cranky and generally detached and hard to know, and that, man, your issues are _legion_, and God help whoever has to help you sort through those, do you know what I mean?" Blair was chuckling a little now, but his smile faded when he saw that Jim was _not_ smiling back. "But I like that, I guess. Or something. Just, when I'm with you, Jim, I feel...well, it's like something kind of clicks. Don't tell me you haven't noticed it. It was there right from the start. Like old friends or like..."

"Soul mates?" Jim said, snorting in disgust.

"Hey man, you said it," Blair said, pushing his hair out of his face to see Jim better. "So make of that what you will."

"Thanks, I will," Jim replied. "Now, get out of here. We both have some place we need to go."

Blair pressed his lips together and nodded, turning to walk away. Jim fixed his eyes away from the retreating back, but he could hear him go – the fast rhythm of his heart, the spasm of him clearing his throat, and Jim could smell the scent of tears, unfallen, but there all the same, mixed in with the usual scent of his skin. Jim noted the absence of pencil lead this morning, and he smiled at the flash of Blair at his desk, his bare feet jiggling, his mouth moving as he scribbled down words. And Jim kicked the sand hard. Kicked it and sat down. He didn't care if he was late.

::::

After he'd showered and put on the khaki pants and button up shirt he'd chosen for the tribal fire. Jim stared at himself in the mirror. His mind skirted over a memory of Adam, dangling upside down from the apple tree that Silvia had pushed Jim from after he licked her. Adam's smile had been bright like stars in the desert. Jim remembered a hot hand on his cock, not his own, the rush and whisper of Adam's voice, and the sudden sting of a slap on his face. That had been the beginning of the end...that moment with Adam and the sleeping bags zipped together, and Jim's father's hand across his face.

Then the senses had started, and Bud had been murdered, and everything was Jim's fault. Adam had grown silent and angry, his back turned to Jim, and never a kind word, as though it was Jim's fault that his father had been murdered simply because Jim had found the body. Silvia's sweet smile never made it out of braces, and even now when he ran into her at the market or in the mall, hauling four children around in a minivan, she never smiled for him, only sighed and said, "Do you remember my father, Jim?"

And he did. He had to because Bud had been his only true father-figure, the only adult who took him just as he was, and Jim had remembered Bud while ignoring his gut feelings, blocking out the way the sun had played in Adam's hair, and how Jim's heart and cock had stirred looking at him, just like when he looked at Silvia, only different because he knew that Adam felt the same. He'd blocked out the way Adam's face collapsed with orgasm, and the smell of his come, and the way they'd held each other after, whispering that they'd never tell a soul, but they had to try that again. Soon. When? Now.

Adam, swinging from the apple tree. Adam, laughing in the breeze by the river, a fish on his line, and his eyes shining. Adam, then Silvia, then Bud all of them standing in front of him, gazing at him with full eyes, and finally Incacha, covered in his paint, saying, "Haven't you punished yourself enough, Enqueri?"

The steam from the shower had long dissipated, and the bathroom was left chilly and covered with small drops of cold water. He could hear that the producers were edging toward his room warily, whispering in tight voices about whether or not they dared to knock on his door.

Jim gazed into his own eyes, thinking of wolves baring their stomachs, fear running through him like ice cold rapids. Was he safe? Was he guide-able? Was this something he could deal with? Was he punished enough?

"I don't know, Incacha," Jim whispered. "I don't know."

::::

Jim waited in his area, agitated and pacing the room. He could _feel_ the other Sentinels nearby, hear their pulses, and smell them. He knew that they paced their small rooms as well, awaiting the moment when they would all meet. As the viewing audience had been warned, it was possible that sparks could fly.

Jim could hear Warren speaking rapidly into his microphone about the exciting evening ahead. "Each Sentinel has chosen two, that's right _two_, final candidates for selection as a Guide. But what makes this extra exciting tonight is, as you may have noticed, two of the five final candidates have been chosen as finalists by two Sentinels. Ladies and gentlemen, we aren't entirely sure what might happen here. This could lead to a challenge."

Jim's stomach churned and he clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting the urge to snarl. He wasn't taking on a Guide. He'd already decided that, so he didn't understand why the word challenge raised his hackles so thoroughly. It was almost like he wanted it. Ached for it even.

Wallace kept taping, "Assuming their proposal is accepted, the bonding ceremony will take place in one of these amazing rooms at the respective resort of each Sentinel. Yes, that's right, ladies and gentlemen, as you'll recall, bonding is a primarily supernatural experience, unexplainable but apparently necessary for the full functioning of the partnership, and the lasting health of the Sentinel. Bonding, it seems, takes place during the otherwise rather mundane and every day, though ever titillating activity, that we all refer to as S. E. X." Warren whispered as he spelled, and said, "This is a family show, of course, so we won't be viewing _that_ portion of the evening. I know, I know, I hear the disappointed groans through the screen, but let us assure you that the Sentinels will need their privacy for _that_."

Jim rolled his eyes, and paced the room even more frantically. It was ridiculous. He didn't understand the fascination with Sentinels, and he still thought it was a terrible idea to alert the public to the fact that he – that any of them were endowed with special sensory abilities. Simon had argued that it would keep Cascade safer if the criminal element knew they had Jim to fear. Still, the knowledge of him would give them an advantage, Jim believed, like it or not.

And now, to take it to this level, to reduce the bonding experience to the equivalent of a naked wedding night caper, making it some kind of romantic story for little girls to hear and begin to dream of – not enough to want to be a princess these days; no, much better to be a guide or a sentinel. Yes, kiddos, televise your desperation and have the moment that changes it all talked about like it's nothing more than a celebrity's latest sex story in the National Enquirer. It...it...well, it really burned his butt to think about it.

Damn, if the scent of the other Sentinels wasn't making him crazy. He felt like climbing the walls, and had to take deep breaths to keep from breaking the door open, and setting out on his own. His hands were in fists and his breath coming in heavy pants when the door opened and one of the producers stepped in. His face was pale and sweaty, and he stood as close to the door as possible.

"Yeah?" Jim asked, pacing back and forth, unable to hold still.

"Mr. Ellison," the guy wiped his face with a handkerchief and smiled, reeking of fear. "There has been a change of plans. It seems that we can't possibly put you all in the same room. As it is, you're nearly breaking down the walls. It was foolish of us to assume...to think it possible..."

A loud crash and roar had Jim crouching low and ready. The producer said quickly, "We're moving you back to your resorts. We'll tape from there. Prepare yourself."

Jim shook his head, grabbed the producer and said, "No. We finish this. Now." The producer quaked in his hands and Jim had to force himself to release him. "You've set us on all edge, bated us with Guides, and played mind games with us for weeks. Finish it. Or I finish you."

Jim actually felt he might make good on the threat, his heart racing, and his throat tight. He needed it to be over, and he could feel it, pulsing through the air around him, the other Sentinels needed it to be over, too.

"It's not safe," the producer whispered.

"Surprise, surprise," Jim countered, shoving him aside and leaving the room he'd been holed up in for far too long. "Sometimes you get exactly what you asked for."

It seemed he wasn't alone in his impatience. Fong was the first one he met. The man moved elegantly, dangerously, and they paced the floor around each other for a moment before they were joined by Alex, a blonde snarling bit of womanhood, who proved she could hold her own when Fong made a move toward her, and she kicked him half way across the room. Jim snorted his appreciation, and crouched down, ready to fight, too.

Cameron's voice was calm, collected, as she stood to the side. "Stop it," she said. "Now. We are in neutral territory. This is no one's ground. Chill out. All of you."

Jim eyed Alex, who glanced between Fong and Jim, and they all dropped their stances simultaneously.

"Christ, let's get this over with," Alex said, tossing her hair. Her eyes tense and wild. "I'm about to lose my mind."

"Welcome to the jungle," Fong said, glancing between them.

Alex narrowed her eyes. "Lay off the cop shows."

Fong smirked and tossed his black hair out of his eyes. "And you stay away from the bottle blonde, darling."

Alex's lip curled threateningly, but Cameron spoke up again. "Do any of you want to collect a guide tonight? Focus. Please. For God's sake."

Jim said, "She's right. Let's stay focused and get the hell away from each other as soon as possible. Let's just get this thing over with."

"You said it," Alex said, sniffing the air. "This way."

They could all smell them. The little group that was left from the massive load of people that had passed in front of them. Jim could smell the stink of their sweat, the anxious kind that was more putrid than any other, and he could smell the detergent in their clothes, the smoke from a quick cigarette, he could smell sage, sandalwood, and shampoo, and if he opened his mouth and gulped the air, tasting it and smelling it both, he could detect that cruel pencil lead scent, though just barely.

They were waiting for them. Waiting to be chosen.

The fire was high and burning steadily. The group stood beside it, none of them talking, all of them nervous, and their expressions were of shock and surprise to see all four Sentinels entering together. "I...thought we were...moving...or something," Allison whispered to Sandburg. Blair, staring at Jim, shook his head and swallowed, saying nothing.

"If you want this on tape," Alex said to the cameramen, "better start rolling."

They scrambled to hoist their cameras and boom microphones, desperate to catch it all. As the producers and Warren ran into the room, Fong stepped forward, his dark eyes bright and his smile predatory. "I go first," he announced and there was a tense moment when Jim thought there would be a challenge to that, but Alex looked to Cameron, gritted her teeth, and rolled her eyes, giving her consent.

Jim's stomach tightened as he watched Fong's eyes linger on Blair, looking over from head to toe in a way that made Jim want to punch him. Blair was brilliant, an anthropologist, he deserved better than some pleasure-motivated Sentinel who would force him to submit to sensual hot stone massages and drawn-out sex with oils and food and God knows what else. Jim's jaw clenched and he started shaking. What the hell was he thinking about? Blair would probably love that.

"I choose Joe" Fong said, stepping forward to grab the arm of the guy that Jim remembered as the one with the cowboy hat who hadn't annoyed him. "Any challenge?" Fong called over his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his selection.

Jim kept his eyes on Blair, watching for a reaction, strangely wanting to punch Fong for _not_ choosing Blair, almost as much as he'd wanted to punch him when he thought he was going to choose him. Who wouldn't choose Blair? He was the entire package. The full deal. Jim's fists unclenched a little, though, when he saw a wave of relief sweep over Blair's face, and he could smell the release of tension as Blair exhaled.

Fong and Joe immediately started kissing in a way that was so lewd and intense that Jim was quite sure it wasn't appropriate for a family show. The room suddenly wafted with their pheromones, and Jim and the other Sentinels reacted immediately, shifting and tense, the atmosphere in the room ratcheted up another notch.

No one spoke, and all eyes turned to Jim. "Go on then," Alex said. "Take your pick."

Jim shook his head. "Women first."

Alex snarled, "I don't need your condescension."

"Just trying to be polite," Jim gritted out, his urge to fight for territory, any territory, incredibly strong with so many Sentinels stalking around the same small enclosure.

Cameron stepped forward then and said, "Listen, I already know who I want. Jim, take your pick. Now. Even my patience is growing thin."

Jim cleared his throat and looked directly at Blair. "I choose no one. I didn't find a guide."

There was a shudder through the room then. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Alex was looking at him in disgust, and Cameron with an expression of pity. Blair's face was serious and lined, and if it hadn't been for the change in his breathing, a tightness, Jim might have believed that what he'd said hadn't hurt.

Jim felt immediately sick, as though someone had punched him in the gut, and he took in gulping breaths, trying to stem the aggression that seemed ready to overwhelm him. He felt wild and torn between pushing Blair out of the room so that he wouldn't have to see him there, breathing in and out in that wounded way, and pulling Blair to him and giving in to his damned inherent bisexuality right there in that room with all the world watching, and then another part of him just wanted to beat the hell out of every Sentinel there until none of them were left standing.

Cameron looked to Alex who chose some guy named Rich that Jim didn't remember meeting. Blond, brown eyes, and kind of gullible looking. Easy prey. So easy that Jim could imagine snapping his neck. The thought made him blink, shocked at himself. Things were getting out of hand, his emotions flying out of control, and he needed to rein them in, had to before things got...dangerous. He chuckled then. Things had been dangerous from the moment this whole thing started.

Cameron took a deep breath and spoke. "Blair? Would you consider being my guide?"

Jim's stomach lurched and he stared at Blair who didn't look at him. His chest felt tight and he couldn't breath right, the room felt too small, way too small, and he was moving, because he couldn't not, and yes, there were way too many Sentinels in his territory, moving toward his territory, getting ready to touch –

"Challenge," Jim yelled, not knowing where the word came from, not having planned to say it, not even knowing for sure why, but if she touched Blair, if she moved another muscle toward him, there would be no more time for warning; Jim was sure of that.

"Oh, come on, Jim," Cameron said, putting her hands on her hips and looking at him in disbelief. "You had your chance. You passed. For fuck's sake, asshole, make up your mind."

Jim's lips were tight, his jaw flexed, and his eyes focused on Cameron's pissed off face. "Challenge," he repeated. "Where do you want to fight?"

"Now. Here."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sandburg's voice wavered in the room. "Fight? What? Let's just talk this out."

Jim saw that Sandburg had stepped into his line of attack. He shifted to the left, prepared to dodge around him, saying, "Stay back, Sandburg. Stay. Back."

Blair leaped in front of Cameron, then, blocking Jim's view, his hands raised and his eyes wide. "Jim, whoa, hold up, buddy. And, uh, Cameron, chill out, because I, uh, I think I, uh, get a say, right? I mean, I get to choose before it comes to blows, am I right? This isn't like some cave man thing where one of you drags me off by my hair. So come on guys, give me a minute, let's take a breath, and--"

"Choose, Sandburg," Jim said at the same moment as Cameron. Neither had taken their eyes from the other, both in stances ready to fight.

"Okay, well, okay – I choose, well, I'm sorry, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but --"

"Choose!"

"Jim! I choose Jim. Just, both of you, relax, breathe in, breathe out, release with love. Let it go. Let go of letting go. Just...wow. Now, that? _That_ was scary for a minute."

Cameron glared at Jim and turned her back, saying over her shoulder, "I'll take Allison, then. A perfectly good second choice."

Allison glanced nervously between Jim, Blair, and Cameron, and then looked over her shoulder at the shaking applicants who had not been chosen, and said, "Are you sure? You don't think that maybe Maria, or Andy...?"

Cameron sighed. "It was nice meeting you, Allison. Best wishes." She glared at Jim and muttered, "Get back to your territory and stay there. You're on my list, buddy."

Jim didn't bother to answer. Sandburg was standing next to him now, staring at him, and saying, "So, okay, then. Wow. Totally unexpected. But, hey. Cool. Um, so...what do we do now?"

Jim looked at him. "What do you think, Chief? We screw."

::::

Simon wasn't surprised when cheers erupted from nearly everyone in the station the moment that Jim had hollered "Challenge." As the days had passed, it had become more and more clear that Jim and Sandburg had a connection, and everyone had started to root for them, even the guys who had originally lamented that Jim didn't seem interested enough in women's breasts.

Simon had found it impossible to deny them the fun of watching the final episodes together in the station break room. For awhile, there had been some Team Sandburg vs Team Allison going on, but when it came down to it, Simon was proud of his little station for dropping their own wish to live vicariously for a desire to see Jim with the best match for him. When Jim had declared that he wasn't taking a Guide, the mood in the room had plummeted, and there had even been a few tears from Vera.

The word 'Challenge' made the entire room erupt with excitement. No one seemed to have any doubt that Jim would win the fight. Anyone who had worked with Jim knew that he was nearly unstoppable when he had what he wanted in his sites. When Blair chose Jim, there was banging on the tables, yelling, and hooting. The only asshole who seemed to have a problem with it had kept his mouth shut and left the room quickly. Simon made mental note to keep an eye on him in the future. Bigotry wasn't something he would tolerate in his station.

Simon's cell phone rang. He answered, plugging his other ear in an attempt to hear over the celebration.

"Dad? Did you see that, Dad?" Daryl asked.

"I sure did, kiddo."

"That was just so…_cool_!"

Simon laughed a little, but he wasn't so sure. It had been dangerous, and it had been a close call, but cool? Simon thought that was a bit much.

"Hey, Dad. How _do_ two guys screw?"

Simon choked, sputtered, and snapped, "None of your business! Do your homework and go to bed!" He hung up the phone and closed his eyes. God, Jim and that Sandburg kid were going to screw. He absolutely did not need to think about that.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't quite as simple as that of course. They had interviews to do, questions to answer, and that all took far too long, working Jim's already frazzled nerves.

"So, Blair, what you're saying is that the night when Jim came to your room, you still weren't sure that he was going to choose you."

Blair squeezed Jim's hand, and said for the third time in as many minutes, "Dude, you were there. I never thought he was going to choose me. Even at the end."

"Jim, was that played for ratings, or were you really unsure up until the end."

Jim glared at Warren. Blair chuckled anxiously, squeezed Jim's fingers again, and said, "Jim doesn't do things for ratings. I'm sure you've figured that out by now." His nervous laughter filled the space between them and Jim wanted to knock the microphone out of Warren's hand, but Blair was answering another stupid question.

"Well, since you won't tell us about the night he spent in your room, why don't you tell us about that first meeting in the bathroom?"

"Man, I already told you about that, back when it happened," Blair said, his hands were shaking as they moved with his words. Jim wanted to grab them from the air and still them, but he didn't, waiting for the right moment to put a stop to all of this.

"Yes, but surely there was more. Was any of this part of your strategy, Blair?"

Blair shook his head, chuckling and vibrating with tension. "Strategy? I, uh, I didn't um, have...um, what? Jim, what are you...?"

Jim stood up, leaned into the microphone and said, smiling as sweetly as he could muster, and with the most shit-eating tone possible, "Warren, I think you've got all you're going to get out of us. So, please, get out of my room. Now. And take every last camera and piece of recording equipment with you. I want to be alone now. With my guide."

Warren smiled lasciviously and if Blair's fingers hadn't been squeezing his own, Jim might have done something about that look, instead he sat through the wrap-up sentences, and multiple good wishes. Blair's body was shaking like a coke addict in detox by the time the door shut on Warren's back. Jim secured the locks, checked the peep hole, checked the windows, and used his senses to scan the place for anything he might have missed, and found nothing. It was over. The television aspect was behind him. Now...now he just had a vibrating, nervous, goofy hippie kid who was supposed to guide him through moments a lot more dangerous than this.

"I'm not going to ravish you, Chief," Jim said, leaning against the desk opposite the bed where Blair sat shaking like a leaf.

"I know. I mean, of course not. I mean...yeah. I want to do this, and um, you'd think I was a virgin the way I'm acting, but I've had plenty of experience--"

"Don't talk about that," Jim said. "Not right now."

"Right. Territorial. Bordering on para--"

Jim scoffed. "It's not that I can't handle the idea that you've been with other people, Sandburg," Jim lied. "It's just not very...romantic."

Blair broke into a broad smile, his eyes taking on a soft, amused glow. "Aha, I knew it. A secret bent toward romance and traditional cultural demonstrations of love and commitment. Very common, actually, for Sentinels to want to reflect their cultural mores in these ways, especially in their relationships with their Guide. Historically, many Sentinels have married, even in same sex pairings, for the--"

Jim said, "We're not getting married."

"Right. Well, I mean, not now...or maybe ever, but, yeah. I see what you're saying, Jim," Blair stumbled, looking more unsure than Jim liked.

"Hey, Sandburg. Who's the guide here?" Jim asked, crossing his arms over his chest, and waiting for Blair to get the hint.

"Oh...oh, right. Me. I'm the Guide." Blair tucked his hair behind his ears and chuckled again. He cleared his throat and said, "I guess, we should get started."

Jim thought that was a good idea. He had been feeling restless all day, and since choosing Blair as his Guide, he'd been half-hard and riding increasingly intense waves of lust, each rush stronger than the last.

"Are you nervous, Jim?" Blair asked. "It's normal to be nervous your first time. I'm sure you never thought you'd be here with a guy, right?" Blair was babbling now. "You don't have to be nervous because it will be easy like—easy like, um, all that's coming to mind is Sunday morning, but that's an awful song, man, and I don't want it stuck in my head for the duration of this thing, so, well, the Aborigines of Australia have a saying--"

Jim could smell the shift in Blair, hear his heart pounding like mad in his chest, and Jim pushed away from the desk and covered Blair's mouth with his hand. He could feel Blair's breath puffing against the side of his palm, and Blair's eyes were bright, and open, and definitely a little scared.

"Shh," Jim soothed. "It's me, Chief. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

Blair's lips were soft against his palm, and Jim felt the distinct press of them against his skin as Blair kissed his hand. Jim let go of Blair's mouth, and stared at it. Soft, red, wet lips, open and Jim gazed at them as Blair said, "I know, man. I've just never done this before."

Jim tore his eyes from Blair's lips and looked into his eyes, saying, "I thought you said--"

"I've had sex with men, yeah, but I've never bonded with a Sentinel. I've read about it, studied it, heard first hand accounts from Guides about their experiences during classes in the training academy, so, essentially, I've prepared myself in every way, but...I've never done it. And it's kind of a big commitment. I've, uh, never been so good at those. I'm...heh, well, Jim, I'm kind of terrified."

Jim ran his hand along Sandburg's cheek, the skin sandpaper rough along the stubble, and baby-sweet smooth at his cheekbone. He tucked a free strand of Sandburg's hair behind his ear, and then buried his fingers in the twisting, soft curls, his fingertips taking in the bristle of the hair as it pressed out of Sandburg's scalp, and then he cupped his hand there, feeling the curve of Blair's head against his palm. "Do you still want to do this, Chief?"

"Yeah. I do."

"So, you've studied this. What do we do first?"

Blair's voice was rough and breathless as he babbled, "I think you should probably start by kissing me. Traditionally in our culture that's the way sex is initiated, and it seems like as good a place as any, though, of course, if you feel—"

Jim leaned in, closing his eyes as his lips touched Blair's. Salty, soft, hungry, wet. Slippery, tongue, and sweet, too. And, God, he needed more. So much more, pushing Blair down, and back, and his hands on Blair's shirt, buttons undone. Off, off, off – there! Yeah, skin, more hair, warm, and now, now...this is good, and yes, this was almost enough, needed just...pushing down Blair's jeans and boxers, and God, that was better, soft-hard, velvet, uncut – of course, uncut – and in his hand, in his hand, _in his hand_. Guttural noises of want and need, and this incredible _pushing_ need, and mouth, again, all wet and warm. Blair under him, moving, and Blair's breath in his ear, panting, wanting, "Jim, Jim, Jim,", and Jim jerked it like he did his own, fast, hard, wanting to smell it. Blair tensing under him, Blair whimpering and breaking apart. Salty, sea-smell, baking-soda-sharp, wet, sticky, and sloppy now slicking Blair's cock. Good. So damn good.

"Jim," Blair's voice panted in his ear. "Jim, now you. Now you."

Jim grunted, shook his head, and backed his senses down. He was hard, achingly hard, and he was half on top of Blair, his hips moving against Blair's leg, and he could come, if he wanted to let go, he could come. He slipped his hand up and down Blair's cock again, watching it jerk in his hand, and he took a moment to understand what he'd missed before. He'd kissed a guy, kissed Blair, and jerked him off. Blair's come was on his hand, white and getting sticky now. He opened up his senses again, adding taste on top of smell, and he smiled as his cock jerked.

"Now you," Blair said again. "C'mon Jim."

Jim lifted up, wiped his hand on the bedspread, and then pulled at Blair's pants until they were off. He shucked Blair's socks, and pushed his shirt away, leaving him naked and spread out before him. Blair was breathing heavily, and his eyes were dilated, soft pools of blue light. Jim didn't think Blair was beautiful. He was too masculine for that word, all hair and muscles and thick, male edges. But Jim couldn't remember ever feeling so fucking turned-on, or so fucking excited, and he wasn't zoning. He was staying right there, right there with Blair. Jim's hands trembled when he reached out to grab Sandburg's hips, dragging him down on the bed, positioning him how he needed him – legs spread, knees up.

No thoughts, just need, and an instinct he couldn't deny. He shoved Blair's legs up, exposing his ass, and then he was there, his mouth against Blair's shivering, hot, intensely scented asshole, and he could hear Blair's voice arching up like his body, and Jim wanted more, was starved for more. His tongue pressed inside, licking, it felt primal and desperate. He shifted his hold from Blair's legs to his hips, holding him down on the bed, fighting the shaking, jumping, twitching body, feeling Blair's heels pressing hard against his shoulders as Blair twisted under his tongue. He heard Blair's voice warbling, wet, loud and crazy, and Jim loved it, absorbed it, took it in and assimilated it into his cells, his being, making it part of his core. Blair was incoherent, words and noises in a stream of sound, as Jim held his hips steady, relaxing his hold enough for Blair to rock his hips gently, soothing himself with the rhythm, whispering, "Okay, okay, I can take it like this, I can handle this, oh, God, oh, God, Jim, Jim," his voice choked and overwhelmed. Jim gripped him tightly again, stopped the rocking, and sucked, licked, ate Blair's asshole fast and hard again. Blair bucked against him, his hands pushing at Jim's head, and his feet shoving at his shoulders, as his voice lifted in a shaking wail. Jim backed off, listening to the hectic rush of Blair's pulse and the thudding of his heart, kissing Blair's quivering asshole sweetly. He pulled back then, met Blair's wet and completely wild eyes, and reached for the lube sitting on the bedside table. Jim unbuttoned his pants, shoved them down around his hips, and poured lube onto his cock. Blair's heart rate sped up, and Jim met his gaze again, saying, "Ready, Chief?"

Blair swallowed and nodded, suddenly silent. Jim could feel the waves of heat from Blair's skin, see the flush up this body, and his eyes landed on Blair's cock, a pearl of pre-come on the head, and drops of his prior load drying in places on this stomach. "C'mon, Jim," Blair whispered, his voice cracked and gruff. Jim didn't need more. He ran his hand over his cock, making sure the lube was everywhere, and then rubbed his slick hand over Blair's asshole, the still clenching pucker tender under his fingertips, and, then, shouldering Blair's legs, he moved into place, lined up his cock and groaned, pushing in and down. Blair just seemed to _open_, and, fuck, Jim didn't know how that tight little hole was taking him in, but it was, and it was incredible, mind blowing, fucking _religious_ how damn good it felt. He couldn't believe how tight, how hot, how fucking amazing the clench and the pull of Blair's ass was on his cock, the way he sank in and the way Blair pulled him in. "God, Chief," Jim said, unable to pull his eyes away from where he was fucking into Blair with slow, deliberate strokes, deeper and deeper.

"Jim," Blair's voice cut through to him, and Jim looked up. "Your shirt." Blair's voice was soft, kind of stunned, and Jim stared at him, caught between his cock's tight, sweet press into Blair's body, and the need to understand what Blair was saying. "Take off your shirt," Blair said again.

Jim tried to shake himself. His cock was halfway in Blair's ass, and his shirt? Take off his shirt?

"I wanna feel you, man," Blair said.

Jim groaned, every instinct telling him to push on ahead, but he gritted his teeth together and pulled out, hearing Blair make a sharp, shocked sound at that. Jim pulled his shirt over his head, pushed his pants off, and threw them aside. Blair sat up then, grabbing Jim by the shoulders, saying, "Like this--"

Oh, yeah. Mouths and kissing, and Blair's hands on him, stroking his back, Blair's hips rocking up, and there – there, Blair was so hard again, and leaking come. Jim groaned. "Now?"

Blair cocked his hips up, and Jim pulled back enough to see, to push inside, and, hell, this time it was easier, so much fucking easier, and Blair's grip on his arms, and his eyes open and hot, so fucking hot like they were burning Jim with their heat, and Jim kissed him, wet, messy, good, stubble scratching over stubble, shocking him a little, and leaving him groaning, fucking Sandburg's ass, closing his eyes, and burying his face in Sandburg's neck, the scratch of stubble against his forehead, and the scratch of leg hair on his back, and more along his stomach, and he loved it, he fucking loved it. Jim let himself get lost in it, that sweet abrasion, and he moaned, suddenly losing focus on that and sliding away to catch on the throb of Blair's heartbeat against his cock, the tight pull as he thrust in and out, and he let go, lost his grip and went into the sensations –

Hot, tight, good, and grip, pull, oh, oh, sweetheart, oh, oh, oh, Chief, goddammit, and the scent of Sandburg's come again, layered with Sandburg's moans, and...fuck, so damn good. He pushed hard on Blair's legs, pushing them higher, getting in deeper, and then he was lost again. Hot, tight, sweat, slick, heat, and....

Falling, soaring..shaking, and spurting, and coming so hard that he couldn't breathe. Couldn't _breathe_. Caught in a loop of pleasure, trapped in a moment of ecstasy, and he felt a shock, a pull, and a deep rightness, before it ended suddenly and completely, the loss of such intense feeling a relief, and Jim collapsed on Blair's chest, trembling and shaking, breathing hard and fast, his cock still jerking in Sandburg's tight ass. Jesus, that was good.

Blair was talking, he was talking and stroking Jim's back. Jim shuddered, and groaned, moved his head to kiss Blair's neck, the voice still going, still saying something. Jim moved back, pulling free of Blair's ass, and Blair hissed, a moment of exhaled breath, and then he was talking some more. Jim collapsed beside him, his head on Blair's chest, Blair's hand on the back of his neck, rubbing there, and he tried to get his breath, tried to get himself together. He'd just fucked a man. Just fucked Blair. Just fucked his _Guide_. And, damn, it had been worth the wait.

"...maybe it's like a delayed reaction? I mean, I thought it was supposed to be instantaneous but I don't feel any different. Every Guide I've interviewed, and every report that I've read said that they felt the difference immediately following coitus. Even during coitus. Some described it as a blossoming, others as a click, or a shift of some nature, but I didn't feel anything. Did you, Jim? Do you feel different?"

Jim felt different, all right. He felt bone-deep sated, exhausted, deliriously relaxed. "Hmm?"

"The bonding. I think something went wrong. I don't feel any different."

Jim tried to clear his head, he ran his hand down Blair's chest, encountering the sticky remnants of Blair's come. He rubbed it against Blair's skin, noting the texture of it, the slippery feel of it on his fingers. "Feel good," Jim said.

Blair chuckled. "Yeah, I bet you do. 'Fucked brains out. Feel good.' But, come on, Caveman, this is important. Did we bond?"

Jim propped up on one arm enough to look down at Blair's face, and scanned the length of his body. What he'd just done and what he'd just felt had been like nothing he'd ever imagined or wanted before. The primitive urge that had overtaken him, and had led him to fold Blair nearly in half to press his face to Blair's asshole, dialing his senses to the exact level to swim and not drown in the strong, thick scents, reveling in them, nearly rolling in them, like an animal in the wild who marked themselves with the most intense scents of their home, claiming it as they wore it. Thrusting into Blair's ass, holding him down and taking in his every noise, every movement, knowing everything Blair felt even while losing himself completely, tasting Blair's pleasure, tasting the moment he gave in to orgasm, feeling and smelling his bliss, and, yeah, now he felt a strong stirring inside, an urge to do what they'd just done again.

"Maybe we were wrong...." Blair said, his voice tense and confused. "What if we were wrong?"

"We're bonded," Jim said, throwing his leg over Blair's body. He realized that he knew the location of every mole and freckle, the size and shape of every scar on Blair's body, and though he'd felt completely gone in the midst of it, he'd actually been more present than he'd ever been in his life.

"Are you sure? I don't feel any different. All Guides have reported--"

"We're bonded," Jim repeated.

"Really? Because--"

"We're bonded, Chief. Stop worrying about it."

"I don't know, Jim. I mean...like I said, I don't feel any different. I think I would notice if I'd made some kind of significant shift in my consciousness, and I was looking for it, you know, waiting for it. I was hoping to make some good notes on the experience, maybe shed some light on the bonding process itself, like does it happen at orgasm, or penetration, or..."

"Chief--"

"I don't feel any different, Jim!" Blair exclaimed.

Jim, frustration rising, said, "Wait until you get up and start moving around. Your ass will tell you otherwise."

"Hey, man, this is _not_ a joke." Blair sounded on the verge of panic.

"Blair," Jim said, keeping his voice as level as possible, sensing that now was not the time to lose his patience. "Okay, you don't feel different. What, exactly, are you supposed to feel?"

"It's not the same for every Guide, but most report a physical sensation accompanying a mental shift, and afterwards they just know things, like what their Sentinel needs and wants, and how to keep them from zoning, and what they--"

"Chief, you've always known what I need, right?" Jim said, softly, trailing his fingers through Blair's chest hair.

Blair's hand came up to still his fingers. "Have I? Have I really, Jim?"

"What do I need right now?" Jim asked.

"I don't know! I mean, I could guess. If I were going to make a guess, I'd say...well, you need me to calm down, focus, and stay present. You need me to make you laugh. You need me to...roll over and let you fuck me again? Really, Jim? _Really?_ That's what you want? In case you haven't noticed, I'm sort of freaking out here, man."

Jim made a soft, reassuring sound, and said, "Well, if you think I didn't do it right to begin with, Chief, there's no harm in trying again." He thrust his hard cock against Blair a little. "And, in case you haven't noticed, yeah, that's exactly what I want—what I need…"

Blair snorted, turned to face Jim, his eyes glowing with amusement. Jim could smell the shift in Blair's mental state, the way the acrid panic dissipated, replaced by sweet amusement and musky lust. Blair said, "So, I take it that you don't mind my man-parts after all? Or that I'm not very leggy or blonde?"

"I can say that didn't even cross my mind," Jim whispered and nudged Blair's shoulder, turning him onto his stomach, taking long, deep sniffs along Blair's skin, pressing soft kisses along his shoulders as he climbed between Blair's strong thighs. He felt and smelled and tasted Blair relaxing, letting go entirely of his panic and fear. After spreading more lube on his cock, Jim pushed into Blair's ass, groaning at the clenching heat, resting his forehead on Blair's trembling shoulders.

"Do you feel different yet, Chief?" Jim asked, panting as he thrust deep and held himself tight.

"God, Jim," Blair whispered into the pillow he was clenching in both hands. "You're big, man."

"It doesn't hurt," Jim said, and somehow he knew it didn't, knew without any doubt that Blair was only aching with pleasure.

"It's good," Blair said, softly. "Really good. Oh, man, yeah – okay, um...wow."

"Different?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Blair said, rocking his hips back, making Jim grab him to hold him down. Jim could tell he liked that. "Oh, um, yeah. Different. Fuck, Jim. Just—oh, God..."

Jim didn't wait for more, rocking hard into Blair's ass, giving himself over to it again, knowing that Blair was there to guide him, to keep him from ever getting too lost in this physical bliss, and so damn grateful for that that he could cry, but instead he just fucked Blair more softly, taking his time, drawing it out, and reveling in Blair's body twisting under his, grasping Blair's fingers in his own as they moved together, feeling just a breath away from heaven, and when he came, zoning hard on ecstasy, Blair was there, pulling him out of that intense loop of feeling, bringing him home.

::::

After Jim brought Blair to a third very hard, very loud orgasm, having taken over an hour to do it, there was no more fussing from Sandburg about whether or not they were bonded. Instead, Blair sat in a freshly showered, slightly damp, exhausted, robe-covered lump on the floor by the half-open door to the patio, drinking tea and staring out toward the ocean, though Jim knew that Blair couldn't really see it through the scrub and the bushes planted by the resort.

Jim lounged on the newly made bed looking at a local newspaper and occasionally glancing in Blair's direction. Heartbeat steady, pulse smooth, and breathing deep and easy, Blair didn't seem anxious anymore, if anything he seemed very relaxed, very comfortable, though Jim thought that they should eat soon. Jim could smell a slight acrid scent, something he recognized as hunger beginning to taint Blair's breath. He took a moment to be amazed at the level of attunement he was experiencing with Blair, how he now felt automatically aware of the smallest details, the quietest shift...like he knew that Blair was now going to talk.

"I should write down some notes," Blair said, not sounding very eager.

"No rush," Jim replied, turning the page of the paper, glancing over a report that a pet monkey had stolen a woman's purse and the owner of the monkey was being questioned in the matter.

"It's just nothing like I thought it would be. I thought it would be..." Blair trailed off, and took a sip of his tea before sighing. "I just feel really...raw."

Jim didn't know what to say. He felt whole, warm, satisfied, and happy. Happier than he'd ever felt in his life. Hearing that Blair felt otherwise, his heart tightened, his throat clenched, and he focused on Sandburg completely, scanning him up and down, looking for something, listening for some change, but it was as it was before – Sandburg calm and relaxed, his body uncoiled and limp, his heart rate peaceful....

"Jim, stop," Blair said, softly. "I'm fine. Yeah, I feel raw, but it's like...I don't know, like I've been completely torn apart and put back together again in the most intensely pleasurable way possible. I feel sort of vulnerable, like a new person in a way." He paused, evaluated his own words and said, "I guess it _is_ like what the other Guides reported. Just not what I thought. It's hard to explain, man."

Jim watched him closely, still not sure it was okay. Not sure that Blair was okay, even though every single thing about him, everything Jim could tell from the bond that fit him more tightly than his own skin, Blair was perfect in every way.

"Yeah, man," Blair said, smiling in his direction. "Perfect is a good word for it." Jim wondered if Blair realized what he'd done. If he did, he wasn't showing it, continuing to talk without stopping, "Yeah, I feel taken apart and remade to fit you perfectly."

Jim tensed jaw, something about that not sitting right with him. Blair remade? That wasn't what he wanted.

Blair held up his hands, saying, "No, no, it's good. It's okay. No, man, no...don't get that way, all right?" Blair's eyes glowed with his usual open honesty as he said, "It's perfect."

Jim didn't know what to say, and still feeling uncertain that Blair was still _Blair_, he moved over to pull Sandburg up from the floor. He shut the patio door, opened Sandburg's robe, and ran his hands down his body. He wanted to check again, make sure he still felt good, make sure that he hadn't been remade in any way, shape, or form.

Blair chuckled and pushed his hands away, closing his robe again, and turning his back. "I can't go again, man. Not yet. Feed me, let me rest, and then we'll see. Right now, though, you're out of luck, my friend. Out. Of. Luck."

Jim could smell Blair's arousal, and knew if he pushed it even a little that he'd have him begging again. Instead, Jim picked up the phone and dialed room service, smiling when Blair grabbed it from his hand and started ordering food like a starving man who'd just been on a twenty mile hike up hill both ways.

::::

Hours later, Jim woke up to the smell of pencil lead and he cracked his eyes open to see Blair shifting restlessly at the desk as he scribbled in a journal. He was muttering again. "Guide's reports are unreliable...no, not unreliable...tainted. Tainted by the individual nature of the experience...and expectations, culturally programmed expectations....."

Jim listened as Blair scribbled on and on, feeling the moment when Blair realized that he was being watched, and gratified that Blair didn't stop his writing to acknowledge him, not for several minutes, when he finally turned around and said, "Sleep well?"

"Taking notes, Chief?"

"Anthropologist, Jim. It's what I do."

"How detailed are those notes?"

"Detailed," Blair replied. He held his body very still, almost defensive, and Jim realized that whatever he'd written down, he suspected Jim wouldn't be pleased with it. Jim also knew why.

"Who's going to read it?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know yet. It's important information. It could help future generations of Guides and Sentinels to understand the intricacies of bonding."

"By making copious and detailed notes about our sex life?" Jim asked. "Did you put in there how many times we fucked and in what positions and how much you liked each one?"

Blair's mouth dropped open a little, his eyes wide, and he waited a long time before he said, "Yes. Yes to all of that, Jim. It's all relevant to the bonding process, and it's important for a myriad of academic reasons, but also to let future generations of Guide and Sentinel pairs know that no matter the cultural mores they've been born into, the sexual aspect is non-negotiable, intense, natural, shameless, and epic."

"Epic?"

"Yeah, epic," Blair said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Can't argue with that," Jim said, his dick already waking up to the idea of another epic event on the horizon. He hadn't been this easy to rouse since he was a kid, since he'd been little Jimmy with his hands under the covers, thinking about Silvia in the apple tree.

"So--" Blair said, defensively.

"So?" Jim replied.

"You're going to let me do this?" He sounded surprised.

"You can write it down all you want, Chief, so long as you safe-guard the journals with your life, but when it comes time to show them to someone...we'll have to talk."

"So, you're delaying the argument then," Blair said.

"Chief, you're an anthropologist. You do what you do. I can't stop you. In fact, I like it. As for giving my consent to have my sex life published in some anthropological journal? That's non-negotiable. I don't consent. Over my dead body."

 

Blair seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then he smiled. The expression was wicked but completely determined. "No problem, Jim. I'll just mark them as only publishable post-mortem."

Jim blinked, paused, and took in Blair's single-minded expression. Post-mortem, huh? Maybe. He'd be dead after all. Who gave a damn what people thought of him then? He shrugged, unwilling to debate it now, or probably ever. "C'mere," Jim said, pushing aside the covers to show Blair what he had in store for him.

"Oh, no, no, no, man," Blair shook his head. "My ass is totally out of commission for today."

"Who said anything about your ass?" Jim asked.

"Oh! Oh, well...when you put it like that...."

Jim half sat up as Blair stood up, shucked his robe, and crossed to the bed. Blair shoved Jim back down, smiling naughtily, and Jim grinned, too, when he realized what Blair had in mind. Blair's thick cock in his mouth kept him from saying how good his own felt stuffed into Blair's, but he could tell that Blair got the message.

::::

Jim felt the cameras on them as they walked through the airport, could hear the snick of the paparazzi taking their photo. It was bizarre. Jim and Blair's bags had been sent on ahead, except for Blair's small backpack that he kept fiddling around in, trying to find a particular CD that he wanted to listen to or something.

Jim sensed her before her saw her. Cameron was standing at the snack shop by the escalators, a magazine in hand, and her eyes on Jim. He nodded curtly to her, and she lifted her chin in a cold acknowledgment.

Blair, who had pulled a CD from his backpack with a triumphant noise just moments before, made soft noise of amusement under his breath at the tension that arced in the space between Jim and the other sentinel. "Do you think maybe we should be polite? Go on over and say hello?"

Jim glared at Blair.

"Okay, then," Blair said, rocking onto his toes, hands shoved into his pockets, and the CD tucked under his arm. He studied Cameron who was now making a very large show of _not_ looking at them. "So, what about Cameron, huh, Jim? Some sexual tension between you two, don't you think?"

"I think you're insane, Sandburg." Jim gritted out.

"Oh, come on. She's smart, tough, and another Sentinel. If the two of you were to...just think, you could have little Sentinels running around."

"Think you're pretty funny, do you, Sandburg?"

Blair laughed, his entire body bending with his chuckles. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Well, you're not."

Blair made a face that indicated he thought Jim was a giant party-pooper. "Oh, ho ho. Someone can't take a joke. Which, you know, makes the two of you a lot alike. And you know what they say about people who are a lot a like?" Blair lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

"You're forgetting your physics, Chief. Opposites attract."

Blair's smile was happy and genuine. "Yeah, that's true. Just look at us, man. Complete opposites. I'm just saying, if you wanted to explore the vee scenario, she might be a good bet."

Jim clenched his jaw to prevent himself from grabbing Blair and pulling him into a restroom to fuck him blind. He shook his head trying to shake off the primitive urge, and gritted out, "I don't share well."

"Right, it'd be the vee…you and her, me and you, and never me and her."

Jim growled softly under his breath, clenched his fists, and Blair had his hand on his arm immediately, exasperated amusement underlying his voice as he said, "Calm down, big guy, it was just a suggestion, just letting you know that I'd be open to that if that's what you wanted."

"I don't," Jim said, his jaw aching now.

"Gotcha," Blair said. "I hear you. Moving on then." Blair gripped Jim's arm firmly and steered them on ahead.

Jim had calmed down by the time they got to the VIP waiting area; they still had an hour before their flight. Jim flipped through a book and double-checked that he had earplugs for take-off. Blair listened to some music on headphones with a lot of drums, fuzzy guitar, and lyrics about being someone's sugarcane, and that's all Jim could take before he'd purposely tuned it out. He was exhausted after weeks of constant observation and stress, and several days of near constant sex. Jim closed his eyes and drowsed a bit, leaning his head against the wall, dropping in and out of a light sleep.

"Jim, man, I'm gonna go get some peanuts and a Coke, and look for some magazines for the plane. Want anything?"

Jim lifted a hand dismissively and slipped back toward sleep. His dreams had been weird the last few nights. He'd even had one where the panther mounted the wolf and fucked him. He'd woken up hard and vaguely disturbed, until Blair had rolled over and said, "Man, I just had a dream that I was a wolf, and I got fucked by a panther. What do you think that _means_?" And then Jim had showed him just what it meant.

Jim didn't even realize that he had been trailing Blair with his senses until he sat up, suddenly quite alert, and ready to move.

"Hey," Sandburg said. "Good to see you, Cameron."

"You, too, Blair," Cameron's voice was quiet, but she must have known that Jim could hear her. "You look exhausted. Is your Sentinel not attending to your basic needs?"

Blair's response made Jim smile. "His very intense attention to my needs is why I look so exhausted."

"Of course," Cameron said, her voice tight.

"Listen," Blair said. "I just wanted you to know, you're awesome and all, but I wouldn't have accepted, even if Jim hadn't chosen me that night. I was gonna have to say no. I wouldn't have been the right Guide for you."

"I guess we'll never know."

"I know." Blair's heart rate was steady. He wasn't at all anxious. Jim waited a little longer. "You know, Cameron, I have a friend at the Guide training program at Rainier. I think you'd like her, and, what's more, I think she'd like you. Here...here's her number. Tell her I said for you to call. Set up a meeting. I'm sure she'd fly to Atlanta. If she's not the one for you, well...she meets a lot of potential Guides in her position. She might know of someone else. Go on – take it. What do you have to lose?"

When Blair returned with the peanuts and cola, and three magazines tucked under his arm, he smiled and sat next to Jim. "I hope she finds someone, man. She deserves better than what she'll get without a Guide. No one deserves that."

Jim thought about the future he'd avoided when Sandburg followed him to be on this stupid television show, and he reached out to take Blair's hand. They'd managed to ditch the cameras at the front of the VIP area, but Jim could still feel watching eyes all around. He squeezed Blair's fingers and dropped his hand to point at one of the magazines in Blair's lap.

"The Biggest Sex Scandals of theYear?"

"Yeah, man, the anthropological interest of these magazines should not be underestimated. Did you know that--"

Jim noticed a photo of him and Blair from the night of the finale tucked into the corner of the magazine Blair was about to open. The words beneath read, "Sentinel Ellison Has Chosen!"

"Give me that," Jim muttered, snatching it from Blair's hand.

"Haha, oh, yeah, man, apparently we're quite the big deal. We have _fans_. The other Sentinels do, too, of course, but apparently we are the surprise hit pairing of the show. Something about our chemistry, I don't know, but it's pretty funny--"

Jim flipped through the magazine until he found the article. As he scanned the pages quickly, his eyes landed on a blurry photo-capture of Blair kissing Fong, the words underneath searing into his brain. "It was thought that Sandburg might end up with Fong--" His heart thumped and his breath felt weird as he sucked it in.

"Oh, hey, man," Blair said, trying to pull the magazine back from him. "Come on, just a little smoochy-smoochy, no big deal, right?"

Jim said nothing, grappling with an urge to hunt down Fong immediately, where ever in the world he might be, and rip his lips off, and his dick, too.

"Look, Jim, read the rest of it. 'It was thought that Sandburg might end up with Fong, _but his connection with Ellison won out_. See? Nothing to worry about. Everyone knows who I'm with, man, just chill. Jeez, does this hyperactive overreaction fade away soon, 'cause, man, I've been with a lot of people in my time, and if you're going to end up freaking out every time we run into someone I've schtupped, much less kissed, then we'll have to leave Cascade."

Jim glared at him.

Blair snatched the magazine from Jim's hands and stuffed it into his backpack; he rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath about territorial Sentinels, and then opened another magazine he'd picked up. _National Geographic_ this time. Jim could nearly hear Blair's thoughts, knew that he was thinking that surely there was nothing in _this_ magazine that would set Jim off.

Jim took some deep breaths, listened to Blair's heart, and took in his scent, filtering out the odors of other people in the room. Blair was _his_ Guide, and that didn't change, no matter how many other people...or Sentinels...he'd kissed in the past. He could feel Blair sending that message to him in the air between them, the subtle waves of connection that came from the lean of Blair's body, the gentle kick of his foot against Jim's calf, and the way his eyes dilated when he glanced Jim's way, his pupils opening up to swallow Jim whole, to let him in. Always letting him in.

Jim relaxed, sending his own message to Blair with the release of tension in his body. Blair murmured, "See, man? No big deal."

Jim exhaled a breath, and scanned the perimeter of the room, watching as people settled their bags, and bought drinks at the bar, listening for anything untoward, sniffing for drugs or other contraband items, and found nothing of concern.

Blair exclaimed about some article he was reading, using his hands to point and jab at the pages as he babbled on about new information on a tribe near the Ganges that he'd spent some time studying, and Jim sent his senses out farther in the airport, sorting through the shuffling of feet, the wailing of children, the scent of perfumes, and finally finding what he was looking for.

He settled into his seat and half-listened to Blair, and half-followed Cameron's progress through the airport and onto the plane that would take her back home. He hoped Blair's friend could help her. Blair was right. She was a good person, a committed Sentinel, and she deserved a Guide just as much as any of them.

::::

Simon rolled his eyes at the sign that Vera and some woman from reception held high in the air when Blair and Jim appeared on the escalators down from the terminal. Jim and his new Guide seemed surprised to find the bunch of them waiting by the baggage conveyor for their flight, which was the plan, but the stupid amount of flailing going on was starting to piss Simon off.

"Leave the man alone," Simon barked, popping an unlit cigar into his mouth, cursing the non-smoking policy of the airport's main terminal and baggage claim area.

Jim lifted his chin in grateful acknowledgment of Simon's efforts, but the women only dispersed when the men pushed forward, offering their hands to shake and manly thumps on the back. Simon didn't miss Jim's relief that so many of his male co-workers weren't making a big deal about his male Guide.

There was another group there, too, a somewhat larger group, from the university. Apparently, Blair was pretty popular in his academic world, and about two dozen people using three-dollar words were busy clapping Blair on the back, hugging him, and generally manhandling the kid. Simon could tell that Jim was tense about that, one eye always turned in Blair's direction, and hardly hearing anything that the guys from the station were saying, despite his best efforts.

"We were rooting for you guys," H said.

"Yeah, it was just so obvious," Rafe volunteered, leaving out any reference to his previous grousing about the lack of ta-tas on Sandburg.

"Thanks," Jim said, his head turned toward Blair who was laughing about something, and Simon snorted at the goofy expression that flashed over Jim's face when he looked at the kid.

Blair looked Jim's direction and there seemed to be a moment where a communication took place, because he nodded a little, and then started saying his goodbyes to his friends. Simon heard him saying, "Yeah, I'll bring him around, man. For sure. I can't wait for you all to really meet him. Thanks for coming out, yeah, wow, you're all so awesome."

Jim broke away from the guys from the station long enough to go over and clasp a few hands from Blair's group, and then the academics dispersed, and Simon took the hint, saying loudly, "Our job here is done. Jim knows we're happy he's home. Now -- everyone get the hell out of here."

He wasn't surprised that there was some grumbling about it, especially from the women, but everyone did start to leave, a few stopping to shake Jim's hand again, and gaining a fast introduction to Blair in the process. Simon noted that there were touches between Jim and Blair, but nothing overt, everything casual, but each nudge and press of hand on arm spoke volumes.

"C'mon," said Simon. "I'll take you home."

"Blair," Jim said, "This is Simon. Simon, Blair."

Simon shook hands with the kid and found that he was nearly vibrating, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Nice to meet you, Simon. I've heard a lot about you, and I am honored to be part of your team. I can't wait to get started—"

"Slow down, kiddo," Simon said. "Why don't you get settled first, spend a week with Jim at home, get that silly look off of both of your faces, and then we'll put you to work."

"A week?" Jim said, incredulous. He hefted his suitcase and Blair followed suit. As they headed out into night, the red and white of car lights flashed past as they crossed the street between the airport proper and the parking lots.

"You should see how you look at each other, Jim. I think a week might be at a minimum. I can't have my top officer distracted by sudden…urges."

Jim scoffed and Simon held up his hand, stemming comments, and then stalked ahead of them both, saying, "I'm telling you now. A week. Get the kid moved in with you. Get settled. Do what you have to do to get all of this out of your system. And then come back to work. We can hold down the fort a little longer."

Jim started to argue, but Blair piped up, "Simon's probably right, Jim. Things are a little intense right now."

"I can keep my hands off of you, Chief," Jim said, obviously irritated.

Sandburg just laughed, and Jim's annoyance grew. Simon could hear the bluster beginning, but Sandburg simply interjected with, "LAX, Jim. Twice. _Twice_, man."

Jim made a noise like he wanted to dispute whatever Sandburg was referencing, but he said nothing at all about it, and instead asked, grumpily, "Where did the hell did you park, Simon? Egypt?"

Simon replied, "Yes, and I did it just to piss you off."

Sandburg's laughter undercut Jim's gruff reply, and Simon smiled. It was an entertainment age; his wife had been right about that. He glanced at Jim, who had his hand on the back of Sandburg's neck, shaking him softly in mock irritation. Yes. Luckily for Jim, it was an entertainment age.

::::

Epilogue:

"Jim, I've been thinking," Blair said as they piled the boxes from his apartment into Jim's truck. "At what point, exactly, did you know you were going to choose me?"

Jim groaned, lifting the heaviest box of books up over the lip of the car, dusted his hands off and said, "Why does it matter, Chief? I did and we're here. That's enough, right?"

"Sure, Jim. Yeah." Blair said, but the long inhaled breath which would precede even more words told Jim that his agreement was lip service. "That's all well and good, man, but here's the thing. I've got this theory. I think that you and I started bonding before we were even aware of it. There's the belief, you know, that bonding takes place during sexual intercourse between a Sentinel and a Guide, but there's really no direct evidence that it begins and ends there, Jim."

"Uh-huh," Jim said, lifting the next box into the truck, noticing that Sandburg was now resting against the bumper, absorbed in his words, moving his hands along to the rhythm of them, and absolutely not helping load his damn boxes into the truck.

"I mean, the Inca and the Chopec both believed that the Sentinel and the Guide had a soul connection, something that is given lip-service even today, they exploited that aspect during the show, remember? But it isn't really studied or explored too much because it's so out there on the edge, man. Science turns it's nose up at it because it isn't based in something that is absolutely concrete and observable."

"Hand me that, Chief," Jim said, indicating the strap to hold the larger boxes in place.

Blair grabbed the lose end of the strap and passed it over to Jim, making a show of pretending to hold the boxes in place while Jim secured the line. "But what we have here, Jim, is a case where we could document at least some of what a beginning bond looks like, some of it with audio and video documentation, even. A bonding that began far earlier than the sexual consummation."

"The point, Chief?"

"The point is, Jim, this is a big deal. You and I...well, the bond started early, didn't it? You felt it, even when you didn't know what it was."

Jim shrugged. Sure, he'd felt it and he hadn't known what it was, and he hadn't been willing to find out. His subconscious humiliation at wanting a man had kept him from acknowledging what was obvious to everyone but him. What was the big deal there? It was every gay man's story, wasn't it? Albeit a little bit late in the game. But he'd grown up in the 60's for crying out loud! With an emotionally abusive father! How was he supposed to be in touch with his feelings?

"Jim, do you know what I think?"

"No idea," Jim said, working the final smaller boxes into the back of the truck.

"I think we started bonding the first time we met."

"In the bathroom. Yeah. I guess."

"No, man, the _first_ time we met. Here, in Cascade, at the mixer."

Jim grunted, shifting a big box into a better position. "I didn't even remember you from the mixer, Chief. I still don't."

"Sure you did. And you do! Just not consciously. Remember how you didn't even react to me being in the bathroom, remember how we just clicked together and it worked? That's what I'm talking about, man, that's what I'm thinking! The first time we met here in Cascade you were so shut off to everything, your soul recognized me, but _you_ didn't. And, in a way, it was the same for me."

Jim lifted his brows skeptically. There had long been discussions about Sentinels connecting with a specific guide, but there wasn't a lot of specific discussion about Guides connecting with a specific Sentinel. He wondered now that he'd never noticed that before, how Sentinel-centric it seemed, and yet Blair hadn't even brought that up. The kid was rubbing off on him.

"Well, maybe with less repression and sublimation for me. I definitely thought about you a lot after I met you at the mixer. I just didn't think I stood a chance getting inside your walls. No one did. But when I saw your name on that list for the show? I'll never forget how I felt in that moment. I just knew I had to go, had to be there, and it was because of you, man, because of having met you." Blair pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked up earnestly. "I can't believe that even I was too uptight, though, to realize what that meant."

Jim shook his head. "You've lost me, Chief. What did it mean, exactly?"

"We'd started bonding. It's a _process_ Jim, not a moment. Or, well, it can be a moment, sure, but a real bond begins with a process, and that's why you couldn't satisfy yourself with Allison--"

"Let's not talk about that, Chief." It still embarrassed him to think about how consumed he'd been by her.

"Why not? You couldn't have bonded with her if you tried! That was lust, man, old memories burbling up to unravel you, but you were already unraveling because of _me_, because of your proximity to the person your soul wanted to be with."

"Whatever you say," Jim said, shutting the back of the truck.

"You don't believe it?"

"Sure I do. I just don't know that we need to discuss it, or that you need to study it. Some things benefit from a little mystery, Chief."

Blair's smile made Jim want to kiss him, but instead Jim patted the side of the truck and said, "C'mon. Let's go."

Blair climbed into the passenger seat next to him and buckled his seat belt. "Nice sentiment, man."

Jim sighed as he settled in for the next barrage of words from Sandburg. He could tell that Blair hadn't given up yet.

"But this isn't just about you, or me, or us. This is about coming to a better understanding of Sentinel/Guide relationships, and how to best --"

Jim was grateful that his new cell phone rang. That is, until he picked it up. A woman's voice asked for Blair, introducing herself as though she had a reason to be calling Jim's personal number. Handing the phone to Blair, he said, "Do you know someone named Naomi?"

"Naomi? Uh, yeah."

Jim could smell Blair's nervous-scent, nothing too overt, nothing that might cause an overreaction in Jim, but enough to raise his hackles. "Tell your ex-girlfriends not to call this number." They'd been coming out of the woodwork since the show aired, women leaving messages on Blair's machine at school and at home, offering threesomes and more. It all had Jim very much on edge.

"Um, Mom?" Blair said, taking the phone.

Mom? Jim let out a breath. Of course! Blair's much-talked-about mother. Jim was surprised that he hadn't noticed the distinct lack of her actual presence in their lives during the last week, given how often Blair referred to her.

"Hi! How are you? Uh, yeah? Here!?! In Cascade!?!" Blair's smile grew nearly manic with tension. "What? Well...oh, well…um, yeah, sure you can stay with us."

Jim's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He and Sandburg were still fucking three or four times a day. He didn't see how the kid's mother could stay with them. That wasn't going to work out.

Blair caught his reaction and mouthed silently, "Just for a week, Jim! A week!" At Jim's look of horror, Blair turned his attention back to the phone. "Yeah, um, Mom, well, you know things are still pretty intense between us. It could get a little crowded in the loft. No! No, of course I'm not saying that you should stay in a hotel."

Jim tweaked his hearing so that he could hear Blair's mother's side of the conversation. She was saying, "And to think, Blair, after all my protesting the pigs, you go and get involved with one. How utterly unpredictable! Just think of what Jimi would say to that!"

"Yeah, Mom, I know." Blair laughed nervously. "So, just a week, Mom, and we'll need a lot of privacy."

"Oh, that'll be fine. I'm in the middle of a meditation practice that requires three hours a day of absolute dedication. Will that be enough time for you to have sex with your Sentinel?"

Blair glanced up with Jim, obviously realized he was listening in, and broke into a nervous, silly grin, and pointed at the phone making crazy-person circles with his fingers. "Hehe, well, yeah, Mom, um, sure. I, uh, listen, let's not talk about that, okay? It's private. Between me and Jim."

"Oh, honey, everyone knows that you have to screw the Sentinel all the time the first few months that you're bonded, right? I remember reading about that in college."

Jim groaned, and mouthed at Blair, "You have got to be kidding me."

"Uh, Mom, maybe you _should_ get a hotel room," Blair said, his eyes half-closed in a strange kind of panic.

"But Blair we _never_ see each other! It's been almost a year! A hotel is so impersonal! Just think, I get back from Bali to find that you've been on some reality program and have your very own Sentinel to study--"

"Mom, I'm bonded to him. He's not my study."

"Well, how will you ever get your PhD, darling, if he's not your study?"

"Mom, um, funny thing…but, um. Let's talk about this later. Okay? I, uh, can't wait for you to meet Jim."

"So, I'll be staying at your place."

Jim shook his head madly, making cut gestures at his throat.

Blair gave him wild eyes and then said, "Sure, Mom, um, just, you know, privacy."

"Right, of course, dear. Privacy."

Jim blinked. Blair hung up the phone saying, "It's just a week. And she's my mom. And, um, we'll find a way around it. It's not like she'll be in our shower, right? Or our bed?"

Jim gripped the steering wheel tightly, and said, "Are you sure? It sounds like you and your mom are pretty close."

"Ew, Jim. Disgusting."

"Just sayin', Sandburg."

"And I'm just sayin' that's a low blow, my brother."

"And you're sticking with the incest theme, aren't you, Chief?"

Blair laughed, the sweet scent of his sweat filling Jim's lungs. Blair rubbed his hands along his thighs, the chafe of his palms against his blue jeans already a familiar sound to Jim. "So, what do we do now?"

Jim glanced into his rear-view mirror as he merged into traffic. "We go home, unpack these boxes, prepare for your mother's invasion, and then, tomorrow, we go into the station. To fight crime."

"Do I get a cape?"

"No, the cape's for me."

Blair's eyes lit up with amusement. "I don't know. I think a cape might make you look a little gay, Jim."

"I think you make me look a little gay, Sandburg."

Blair made a face and then sighed, his body easing comfortably into the seat. "Fight crime. Sounds exciting, man."

Jim glanced over as Blair looked at him with such open adoration that Jim wanted to pull over and kiss his eyes, his lips, his cheeks, every bit of his face. Instead he simply said, "It will be."

Blair looked around as though really understanding where he was and who he was with for the first time, and said, "Cool."

"Yeah, cool."

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Holly and Jed for the read-overs! I love you both! This is what happens when you've had pneumonia for a few weeks, you watched an episode of the The Bachelor with your very observant four year old (oops! bad parenting moment!), and you are suddenly gripped by a resurgence of mad, crazy, wild Sentinel love. :)


End file.
